


Shifting Grounds

by Sarahbob



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Gen, Guilt, Handholding, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Enjolras, Non explicit description of bloodletting, Professional Joly, Worried Combeferre and Grantaire, injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1740359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahbob/pseuds/Sarahbob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire watched horrified how the floor beneath Enjolras gave way and how his perfect, marble statue tumbled down. He was momentarily frozen to the spot, but then Enjolras' pain filled scream tore through his heart and he flew down the stairs; calling Enjolras' name as he went.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows the events of Grantaire going to Barriere du Maine to do Enjolras' bidding and it just completely turns into something different afterwards... I hope you'll like it.

He should have known it! He should have known that Grantaire of all people would not be fit for the job. He should have known better than to let the drunkard make him believe that maybe he was good for something. That maybe he did believe in something. But here Grantaire was, playing dominoes for Heaven's sake! Enjolras shook of anger and he felt strangely betrayed. How could he have let his mind slip into thinking that maybe the most cynical member of their group would change if only he was given the chance? Enjolras was embarrassed. Grantaire had made a fool out of him.

He stormed across the streets of Paris back towards the Café Musain; rage too profound to even think straight and therefore he did not think himself capable of speaking with the members of the Cougourde of Aix anymore. He had sent Grantaire as his representative to Barrière du Maine; he had – for once – decided to swallow his doubts concerning the wine cask and give him the opportunity to prove himself. And oh, how he had failed. How he had humiliated Enjolras, the Amis and all the things they believed in. Apart from being outraged and furious, Enjolras recognized the feeling of intense disappointment. Somewhere deep down, he had really hoped Grantaire would step up and prove his worth to them.

"Enjolras! Enjolras, please wait and let me explain!" a voice behind him called. Enjolras knew it was Grantaire; he knew that Grantaire had seen him at Barrière du Maine. He could still see the shocked expression and the shame in the drunkard's wide eyes. Enjolras turned around, wildly, eyes flashing dangerously and hands clenched into fists. "Don't bother, Grantaire. Just leave, and for all of our sakes, don't ever return," Enjolras growled as he continued his way to the Café. He really wished Grantaire would leave him alone now, because his fists were aching to take a swing.

"You do not mean that! Enjolras, I admit my mistake, but you have no right to send me away. That is not only up to you and I doubt the others will be so quick to dismiss me without even giving me a chance to explain." Grantaire recognized the desperation in his own voice, but he did not care. Enjolras could not send him away. Without these meetings – no matter how useless Grantaire thought they were – he had nothing. Without this group of friends; without their faith and inspiration; Grantaire might as well be dead. "Enjolras, please!" he called again when the blond man he so admired, ignored his pleas and just kept on walking.

Enjolras did his best to block out Grantaire's voice, but when he reached the deserted Café and made his way up the stairs to the backroom, heavy footsteps behind him told him that he was still being followed, and something inside him snapped. He spun around so fast that his vision was tilting slightly. With just a few steps he was only inches away from Grantaire; their foreheads nearly touching. "I thought I told you to leave me alone Grantaire," he said in a dangerously controlled and calm voice; though the anger was clearly there too. "How dare you? How dare you come after me after this?"

Grantaire recoiled a little and drew in a shaky breath. "You speak of justice and equality; of forgiveness and second chances and yet here you are banishing me from your life without offering me any of those things you so passionately speak about. That doesn't make you any better than those you oppose, Enjolras." He had gone too far. Grantaire knew that he did. And so the sudden slap in his face hardly surprised him. He raised a trembling hand to cup his cheek and knew a bruise was forming already.

After hitting him, Enjolras slammed his fist against the wall behind Grantaire and turned away with a frustrated shout. "I do not understand you, Grantaire!" he roared, "You do not make any sense to me whatsoever. Why must it be your goal in life to mock everything I do? Why do you strive to make a fool out of me? Why do you keep coming back if you don't care about anything we try to accomplish? Why Grantaire?"

Grantaire swallowed, but kept silent. For once he wasn't in the mood to counter Enjolras' words with arguments. He had screwed up and he knew it. Enjolras had given him one chance, and he blew it.

"Every single day I wonder if maybe – just maybe – there will be a day when you will prove all my doubts about you wrong. Every day I hope that you'd put your quick tongue to better use than to scoff at me. Every day I pray that you see how much of a better person you could be if only you'd try; if only you'd allow yourself to believe in something. And every day, you disappoint me. And then today, you ask to be my representative; you offer to do something for our cause…And I trusted you. Never have I been so disappointed in someone and the worst thing is that I don't even know why I care! Why do I even care about you and your actions? I don't understand."

Enjolras was close to panting and now spoke more to himself than to Grantaire, who was still pressed against the wall and looked guiltily to the floor; tears gathering in his eyes. "I am sorry," Grantaire whispered in a broken tone; one that Enjolras had never heard before. "I don't know why I failed you; I really wanted to do well this time. I am terribly sorry even though I know you'll never believe me. But please don't send me away, Enjolras? I need you and the others like I need the air I breathe; please don't banish me from your group."

Enjolras glared at him and shook his head in disbelieve. He really did not understand this person who stood before him. He just didn't make any sense. Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose and opened his mouth to speak, but his words were cut short by a loud cracking beneath his feet. Before he knew what was happening, the floor on which he stood shifted; the wooden planks snapped and suddenly, Enjolras felt himself falling. He hit the ground below him hard and winced when a sharp pain shot through his right leg. But that was nothing compared to the blinding, white hot pain that followed and ripped a gut wrenching scream from his throat.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire watched horrified how the floor beneath Enjolras gave way and how his perfect, marble statue tumbled down. He was momentarily frozen to the spot, but then Enjolras' pain filled scream tore through his heart and he flew down the stairs; calling Enjolras' name as he went. He felt sick to his stomach when he reached the blonde's side and saw the reason of Enjolras' broken moans and pained face: a large, sharp wooden stake had pierced his friend's right side. He gasped and tears sprang to his eyes. This was bad; very bad. Enjolras' eyes were clenched tightly shut and his hands desperately grasped around the floor in search of something to hold on to.

Grantaire immediately fell down next to his blond friend and took one of his hands in his own; he winced when Enjolras squeezed it with all his might. "Enjolras? Enjolras are you with me?" he asked anxiously.

Enjolras' eyes fluttered open; blue eyes glazed with pain. He looked at Grantaire for a second and tried to understand what on earth had just happened. Then his eyes trailed down until they came to the object piercing his side and he quickly looked away again; swallowing convulsively. "Grantaire," he whispered quietly, "Grantaire, take it out. Please, you have to take it out."

Grantaire's eyes widened and he shook his head. "I can't," he replied; ignoring Enjolras' attempt to roll his eyes, "Enjolras, I can't take it out. You'll bleed to death if I do. I…you need a doctor…Joly and Combeferre aren't far from here. C-can you move?"

Enjolras let out a laugh, although it sounded a lot closer to a strangled sob. "What do you think?" he said through gritted teeth; his hand squeezing Grantaire's even tighter as the first tears made their way down his cheek. He let out a miserable groan. "I can hardly breathe without that thing stabbing deeper. Besides, I think I broke my leg." He tried his best to keep his composure, but it was all too clear to Grantaire that Enjolras was in unimaginable pain. He had to be.

"I…ah…God, Apollo….okay, well than I'll go get them for you, alright?" Grantaire suggested, even though he really didn't want to leave Enjolras alone. "I know where you sent them and I'll be right back; less than fifteen minutes, I promise." But just when he loosened his grip on his friend's hand, Enjolras' grip turned iron and he furiously shook his head.

"No," Enjolras breathed weakly, "Don't leave, please….R, don't…d-don't leave me alone."

"Enjolras, I have to get you help! Who knows how long it will take before anyone else comes back here?" Grantaire tried to convince the younger man, but Enjolras kept shaking his head; and refused to let go of Grantaire's hand. And there were some emotions in his eyes that Grantaire had never seen there before: fear, vulnerability and uncertainty.

"Please, Grantaire," Enjolras muttered, "Please, just this once could you do as I ask? Stay…" He closed his eyes as another fierce wave of pain washed over him. "I-I don't want to be alone…I don't want to die alone." Those last words were spoken so quietly that Grantaire had to strain his ears to hear them. But he did hear them and they made his world spin so violently that he had to close his eyes or else he would have fallen over. _He's not going to die. He cannot die. Not like this_."Please, just stay here…" Enjolras whispered again.

Grantaire had to bite his lip to keep from crying. How could this have happened? One second Enjolras had been fine. He was furious, of course, but he had been fine. And now his marble statue was cracking and talking of death and asking him to listen to him; just this once. How could Grantaire disobey him again? What if he left and Enjolras did in fact die? Then he would've failed again; he would have refused to live up to his Apollo's dying wish. Wordlessly, he settled down on the floor and he gently carded his fingers through the golden locks.

"Okay," he said shakily; his heart hammering in his chest as he doubted his every word; his every decision, "Okay, I'll stay. Don't you worry, I won't leave, I promise. But you are not dying Enjolras, because it is not your time. Not like this. So don't you dare give up on me. We'll just wait together – here – until the others return. Everything will be fine."

Enjolras nodded his head ever so slightly and a small, grateful smile tugged at his lips. They stayed like that for a few minutes – in silence – until Enjolras started to shiver a little. Grantaire took off his own coat and draped it around his young friend's body; carefully avoiding the disturbing wound on his side. Their hands were still linked together; although Enjolras' grip had lost most of its strength. Hundred thoughts were running through Grantaire's head. _Have I made the right decision? Should I go and seek help anyway? Is he going to make it? Is there something I can do to ease his pain?_

Yes! There was an answer to that last question. Grantaire always wore a flask of brandy with him and it might just take the edge off Enjolras' pain. He softly pressed the flask against Enjolras' lips and coaxed him into taking a sip or two. To his surprise, the fearless leader obeyed at once and gratefully drank out of Grantaire's flask until the drunkard decided he had had enough. He didn't know if it had helped at all, because Enjolras did not say anything, but he did feel his body relax a little and he just prayed that was a good sigh.

"R?" Enjolras mumbled after another few minutes of silence; eyes still closed and breath now coming out in small gasps, "Talk to me?"

 _Talk to him? About what? What does he want to hear?_ Grantaire searched his mind, but he couldn't think of anything. _What was there to say?_ Only minutes ago they had been fighting. Enjolras had been so angry with him; had punched him in the face. And now he wanted - needed - Grantaire to talk to him? The cynic closed his eyes in quiet desperation and prayed for Joly or Combeferre to come in. Enjolras was so very pale. He needed help.

"Okay," Grantaire said softly while he kept carding a hand through Enjolras' hair. "Okay...I-I'll talk...uhm...well, you know I've never really been like this at all, Enjolras," he began quietly. He didn't know what brought this on, but Grantaire suddenly wanted Enjolras to know why his life had turned out the way it had; why he was the way he was. "I used to be very different from this shell I am now...I used to have a real future when I was younger. My father was willing to pay my studies; I was going to attend the School of Arts, you know...I was happy; I had a nice family...It was all so very different from how it is now..."

Enjolras didn't say anything, but Grantaire could tell he was listening by the way his blond friend softly squeezed his hand every now and then.

"Everything was going the way it should...until they attacked my little sister..." Grantaire sniffled sadly, "They raped her, you know...they robbed her and raped her and no one came to help. They wounded her so badly, she passed away even before my father had found her... And those bastards; they got away with it. They got away with it just because of their status and their dirty money...And my parents, they couldn't cope. They lost their only daughter; their little sunshine. There was no one who could help; nobody even cared. Father killed himself and my mother slowly wasted away until she died as well; so a year after I lost my sister, I lost both of my parents. And I was the only one left behind."

Grantaire never spoke of his past; not ever. Why would he now? He didn't understand, but words were flowing freely from his mouth and he couldn't stop them. He somehow needed Enjolras to know that he'd never meant to become this bitter, negative person.

"I was broken...I dropped out of school and I wanted nothing more than to just kill myself as well. But I was too much of a coward; I had the knife, but I couldn't do it. I drank instead and I just kept on drinking and I never stopped. And somewhere along the way, I turned into this bitter person who just can't bring himself to believe in anything anymore. I've been disappointed so many times in my life, Enjolras...I wouldn't even be able to tell you about it all. And I don't know why I'm even telling you this. It is no excuse for my behaviour of today, but I guess I just wanted you to know. I just want you to know that I was a different person once. I really was."

Grantaire squeezed Enjolras' hand and watched how more tears trickled down his face. He wondered if it was just the pain that brought them on.

Enjolras felt miserable. Breathing was becoming harder and harder; the pain was nearly unbearable. His whole body was drenched in cold sweat and every muscle in his body shook violently. He was scared. "Grantaire?" he whispered quietly and Grantaire leaned down to hear his words. "I don't want to die like this. Not like this..."

"You're not. I promised you wouldn't, remember? And I intend to keep that promise to you; even if only just this once. I will not fail you. Please don't give up, Enj-"

A movement in the corner of the Café made Grantaire's head snap up. There was a small shape that the cynic recognized at once. "Gavroche! Thank God, it's you. I...we need your help!"

TBC.


	2. Chapter 2

_(Hi guys! Thanks for the kudos :) To avoid confusion: this story takes place early in the morning and the Café would not yet be open (hence the fact that it was deserted). The owner of the Café allows Enjolras and his friends to use the backroom of the Café even when the Café itself is still closed. So there's that :) On to the story!)_

* * *

"Gavroche!" Grantaire exclaimed as soon as the window gave him view of a small figure moving just outside the front door. He'd recognize the gamin's hair and hat everywhere. "Gavroche! I...we need your help, get in here please!"

Enjolras let out a small moan at the sudden loud noise above him and Grantaire softly squeezed his hand. He stared intently at the door, hoping that Gavroche would just do as he said and come in. He did.

The young child peeked around the door and let out a gasp; shocked at the sight that met him. His big, blue eyes went from Enjolras to Grantaire to the ceiling and then back at Enjolras. All blood slowly drained from his face and his eyes were fixed on the ugly wooden object that was stuck in his leader's right side. He swallowed convulsively a few times and fought hard against the tears that threatened to flow from his eyes. He'd seen much in his short life, but never something like this.

"Don't worry, don't worry Gavroche, he...h-he is going to be just fine. But we need your help. I-I need to you to fetch Madame Hucheloup for me, okay? Tell her to come to the Café; she knows we had a meeting here earlier. And then go to Rue de Saint-Antoine. Joly and Combeferre will be there and they need to come back here as soon as they possibly can. Please hurry, Gavroche," Grantaire pressed and he smiled a little when the boy nodded, turned on his heels and darted out the front door.

Grantaire focused his attention back on the younger man beneath him. He looked paler than ever and a small sheen of sweat had formed on his forehead. Enjolras suddenly looked so young, so innocent and so vulnerable. It frightened Grantaire. He had never before seen his Apollo in a state like this. As if he would shatter at the lightest touch. The dark haired man tightened his hold on the slender, pale hand and shifted a little so that he could pillow Enjolras' head on his lap.

"See, Enjolras? Everything is going to be okay. Help is coming and you'll be fine. I-I promise," Grantaire said in a shaky voice. He wondered if his promises even held any worth to Enjolras. It wasn't as if he had ever followed them through before. Just half an hour ago he had failed to do what he had promised. But then again, never before had he promised something with so much conviction and faith as he did now. Somehow this promise felt different than all the others.

Enjolras swallowed hard and opened his eyes to slits. He gazed up at Grantaire and just watched him for a bit as if his eyes needed time to focus. "Thank you," he breathed after a few moments and he tried to squeeze Grantaire's hand although he nearly didn't have any strength left. "F-For staying."

Grantaire's heart skipped a beat and he offered Enjolras a wry smile. "You know me...I'll always stay. And I'll always come back. It's hard to get rid of me." He brushed some of Enjolras' golden curls back with a trembling hand; slightly amazed by the fact that his Apollo allowed him to do so. Grantaire used to think it was a gesture only meant for Combeferre and Courfeyrac, but apparently Enjolras' current vulnerable state permitted him, too.

Enjolras watched him for a little while longer, with an expression Grantaire couldn't quite fathom, and then closed his eyes again. He was breathing far too shallow for Grantaire's liking and even though the cynic did not know much of anatomy or medicine, he was pretty sure that a heart wasn't supposed to beat at such a slow rate. Especially not Enjolras' heart which was meant to beat loud and proud with passion and courage. The realization made Grantaire's heart beat all the more faster. _Please, please hurry Gavroche._

* * *

Within the next five minutes or so the door of the Café opened again to reveal a slightly plump, kind looking woman with rosy cheeks and her dark hair in a messy bun on the top of her head. She gasped at the sight in front of her and hurried towards them. "Oh, mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! What happened here?" She exclaimed as she run her small hand across Enjolras' forehead.

Grantaire could've cried actual tears from relief when he saw Madame Hucheloup and realized he was no longer alone. Help was coming. "Madame, thank God you're here. Monsieur Enjolras and I...W-We were upstairs in the backroom arguing and...and Enjolras was pacing and then suddenly there was this loud noise and then the floor gave way and Enjolras fell...and...and well, you can see for yourself the result isn't all that good..."

Grantaire's words came out hurried and jumbled and Madame Hucheloup had to concentrate very hard to hear them all, but the gist wasn't hard to understand. She glanced up at the ceiling and pressed her lips together in disappointment and regret. The wood around the gap was clearly rotten. No wonder it gave way. "Oh dear," she muttered, inspecting the wound on Enjolras' side and turning paler at the sight of it. "Poor boy, is he conscious? Have you sent for a doctor?"

As if he wanted to answer the question himself, Enjolras' eyes fluttered back open and took a moment to focus until they turned to Madame Hucheloup. He tried to smile, but it came a lot closer to a pained grimace. "M-Madame..." He whispered weakly, "I a-apologize for b-breaking your floor...R-rest assured that all costs w-will be mine." A lone tear trickled down his cheek and he winced as every word sent daggers into his broken body.

"Hush my dear boy! That is not something I want you to concern yourself with. My customers will just have to stay downstairs for a while and I'll have the Café closed until you are tucked away in a nice warm bed and I have cleaned this mess," Madame Hucheloup cooed quietly, wiping the tear away. Then she turned to Grantaire and asked again: "Have you sent for a doctor, boy? And did you try to disinfect the wound already?"

Grantaire stared at her for a second. "Y-Yes, Gavroche has gone to get Joly and Combeferre...A-And disinfect? No, I haven't...I don't really have supplies and he didn't want me to leave him alone, so I didn't go search for them..." He gave the younger man beneath him a protective look and bit his lip. _Should he have gone looking for them? But what would he be looking for in the first place? He wasn't a doctor. How should he know?_

Madame Hucheloup smiled a little, stood up straight and quickly walked into the storeroom where she kept her most expensive drinks and tableware. She came back with a bottle of vodka, some clean cloths and a glass of water, which she gave to Grantaire. "Try to get him to drink some of this. He's going to dehydrate at the rate he is sweating."

After Grantaire had done as she asked – Enjolras gladly gulped the water down – she crouched down beside them, took Grantaire's coat away and poured some of the alcohol on the cloths. Then she took out a knife to cut away pieces of Enjolras' shirt surrounding the wound and very, very gently, she started to dab the injured area with the cloth that was drenched in vodka. Enjolras' eyes snapped open and he let out a miserable moan. He tried to squirm away from Madame Hucheloup – who kept a firm hold – and looked up almost pleadingly to Grantaire, begging him to make her stop.

"Madame…a-are you sure you know what you're doing?" Grantaire asked hesitatingly, but he shut his mouth as soon as the woman gave him a stern and expressive look. "I-It's just that…you're hurting him…" He added quietly when Enjolras let out a small sob.

"Of course this is hurting him, darling, but it is necessary. We don't want an infection on top of this, I think. It is the least we can do until your two doctor friends arrive. Just hold his hand and try to calm him down. I'm almost done…"

Grantaire swallowed thickly and did as he was told. He grasped Enjolras' hand tighter and leaned down to whisper soothing words in his ear. To his surprise, Enjolras actually listened to him and he tried his best to breathe through the pain and relax as much as he could. They stayed like that for a few minutes more – as long as it took for Madame Hucheloup to stop her dabbing – and then a little while longer until Enjolras regained his composure. When the plump lady announced she was going to make a fire – "It is far too chilly in here" – Enjolras gently tugged at Grantaire's hand to bring the cynic closer.

"I a-apologize for hitting y-you," he breathed quietly, only loud enough for Grantaire to hear because he was leaning so far forwards. "I-I should not h-have gotten violent."

It was too much. Grantaire couldn't handle this. It was just too much. Here he sat, on a dirty floor in an old rundown Café with his idol cradled in his arms, hands entwined and Enjolras was showing his human side to him for the very first time. To him. To Grantaire. He was apologizing to him; he was begging him to stay; he was telling him that he didn't want to die. He was putting his faith in Grantaire; believed him when he told him that everything would be alright. And it scared Grantaire more than he would have thought, because he didn't know how to deal with this type of Enjolras. This young, vulnerable boy who looked up at him with these big blue eyes, pleading him to make it okay. It was just too much.

"Hush now, Enjolras," Grantaire mumbled ever so softly right by Enjolras' ear, his dark curls brushing the younger boy's forehead. "I-I deserved it, we both know that. I failed you when you decided to give me a chance and you will never know how sorry I am for it. I blame myself as much as you blame me, so don't apologize. Please, be quiet, we can talk about this later…"

A faint smile ghosted across Enjolras' face. "You did deserve it…", he whispered with a small sigh, "B-But that still didn't give me the right to hit you. P-Please accept my apology, I-I need you to, please. Please, R…"

And suddenly Grantaire understood what Enjolras was trying to do. He needed Grantaire to accept his apology so that he could die with a clear conscience; so he could die in peace. Well, that was just not going to happen. He wasn't going to die. He wasn't allowed to. Not now, not like this. Grantaire gritted his teeth and squeezed Enjolras' hand tighter to emphasize his point. "No I will not accept your apology. Not like this. You are not giving up on me, Enjolras, don't you dare. You can apologize to me when you're in a bed, healing, and then we can have a talk. But I will not clear your conscience, just so that you can give up. Apology _not_ accepted."

Enjolras did his best to glare, but the effect was lost on Grantaire. "'S not fair," he muttered sulkily, but he didn't have the strength to say any more on it.

"Well, tough Apollo. It's not fair to give up on me either, so we're square. Now stop talking and just focus on breathing, alright? Joly and Combeferre will be here soon and they'll fix you right up. Just wait and see. And I'm right here too, I'm not going anywhere."

Enjolras nodded and squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of white hot pain washed over him. He'd never been in this much pain in his entire life and if he was honest, he was really sick of dealing with it. But as long as Combeferre would be here soon, then he could hold on a little longer. As long as Grantaire kept squeezing his hand, he could hold on a little longer. As long as the pain wouldn't knock him out, he _would_ hold on a little longer. For himself, for his friends and for his cause.

TBC.

* * *

_(Shorter chapter this time, but I wanted to wait with bringing Combeferre and Joly to the picture until chapter three, so there's that. Hope you enjoyed this one, please leave a review if you did. Thanks! :))_


	3. Chapter 3

_(Hi guys! Thank you all so much for your support. I do hope you like this chapter. Enjoy!)_

* * *

Grantaire was starting to get restless. Enjolras' condition was deteriorating rapidly and there still was no sign of Combeferre or Joly. It had been nearly twenty minutes now. Twenty horrible, long minutes in which Enjolras was getting paler and paler and his breathing was becoming more and more shallow. Twenty minutes in which both Grantaire and Madame Hucheloup desperately tried to stem the bleeding and to keep Enjolras conscious. Twenty minutes full of pleads and curses; swears and what-the-hell-is-keeping-them's.

Enjolras no longer had the energy to keep his eyes open and the hand that was holding Grantaire's had lost all its strength. He was struggling and fighting for every breath and he was so tired. So very tired. He hardly felt the pain anymore except for the white hot waves that spiked every now and then; everything was fuzzy and it was almost like a thick blanket was pulled over his head to block out every sound. He knew that Grantaire was speaking to him, but he couldn't understand the words, no matter how hard he tried. He was floating somewhere in between consciousness and sleep. He knew he was still there; but at the same time he wasn't really present. He wanted to fall asleep. He was so tired.

"Enjolras," Grantaire called out, softly slapping him in the face and squeezing his hand. "Enjolras, just hold on a little longer. They will be here soon, I swear it. I know it. Don't give up on us now, okay. Please just stay with me. Can you open your eyes? Just for a second? Just to let me know that you can still hear me?"

It took some time for Enjolras to understand what Grantaire was saying to him. The words came from so far away, _couldn't he speak any louder_? _I can hear you, but I can't open my eyes. I'm too tired Grantaire,_ Enjolras thought miserably. He tried to speak the words, but all that came out was a quiet moan followed by a pained wince.

"Okay," Grantaire muttered softly, "Okay, that's fine too. Thank you."

* * *

Combeferre was worried. One minute he was with Joly talking to the other medical students about their meetings and the next he was running as fast as he could back to the café with Joly on his heels. He couldn't believe what Gavroche had told them. It couldn't be true. Because if this was true then his best friend would be in serious danger and there would be a chance that Combeferre might lose him and that just wasn't an option. He just couldn't believe it. This accident… It was too ridiculous to be true. They must be pulling some kind of prank on him and Joly. But then why was Gavroche in tears? Why did his heart beat so loud and why was his stomach in knots?

He didn't want to think about what he might find when he got to the Café. All he really wanted was to get there as soon as possible so he could prove to everyone that Enjolras was fine and that they should feel ashamed for scaring him like this. He swallowed thickly and forced his feet to move faster even though they were already aching from his current rapid pace.

It took him no more than eight minutes to get back to the Musain and to have all his fears realized. The minute he opened the door, stepped inside and was met with the sight of his best friend lying pale and shaking on the floor, his heart stopped and it felt like someone was trying to throttle him. The air was knocked out of his lungs and all he could do in that moment was stare. Stare with his mouth slightly agape and shock written all over his face.

He took a few cautious steps forwards, not even noticing the words Grantaire was speaking to him or the way Joly immediately jumped into full medical mode by ordering Madame Hucheloup around and gathering his medical supplies which he always left at the Musain...just in case. Everything passed in a blur for Combeferre and only when Grantaire whispered something in Enjolras' ear and his best friend attempted to open his eyes, was the poor medical student snapped into the present. He bolted forward, dropped to his knees and carefully took Enjolras' hand in his own and cradled his head in his lap.

Grantaire backed up a little to give the two best friends some space. He felt strangely insecure and hollow now that he separated from his Golden Leader, but Enjolras needed to see that help had come so that he could fight a little while longer. If the situation wasn't so horrible, it was actually quite a sight to behold. The way the two best friends were drawn to each other. The way Enjolras' hard expression – which he had tried to maintain as long as possible – softened as soon as Combeferre was near him. The way Enjolras looked up at his friend, almost pleading – begging – him to make everything alright. To take the pain away. It was a transformation that hardly anyone had ever witnessed and almost only occurred whenever Enjolras was in serious danger or when he was scared. Grantaire had to swallow the lump in his throat when he saw how his friend's face crumpled and how he tried his best to turn towards Combeferre; to hide away from all the pain and misery; to seek comfort. And all Combeferre had to do to have Enjolras open up; to have him share his deepest emotions; was just to be there.

Combeferre gently carded his hand through Enjolras' blond curls and bend forwards to press a lightkiss on his forehead. He squeezed his young friend's hand – which was slick with cold sweat – tight and murmured soft words into his ear until Enjolras' eyes fluttered open to small slits.

"There are those blue eyes," Combeferre whispered and he offered Enjolras a small smile. He couldn't help the tears leaking from his eyes. "Everything is going to be okay now, my dear friend. I'm here and Joly is here and we are going to fix you right up. I promise. You just have to hold on a little longer. Can you do that for me?"

Combeferre spoke slowly, pausing every now and then to give Enjolras the time and chance to keep up with what he was saying. When asked if he could hold on, Enjolras huffed miserably and squeezed his eyes shut. His mouth formed words and even though he didn't make any sound, Combeferre knew what he was trying to say. _It hurts_.

"I know you're in pain, Enjolras," Combeferre said softly, eyeing Joly as the other medical student spread out his medical supplies around himself and carefully inspected the grotesque wound. "I know it hurts, but I also know that you are one of the strongest people walking this earth and you _can_ hold on for us. I know you can."

Again, Enjolras didn't speak. He was far too weak to cooperate and his mind was far too fuzzy to form any coherent sentences. Nothing more than a quiet whimper escaped his lips. But he also nodded. It was a motion barely noticeable. Easily missed when one had blinked his eyes a little too long. Both Combeferre and Grantaire had seen it and they uttered a relieved sigh. As long as Enjolras still had some fight left; as long as he wouldn't give up, Combeferre and Grantaire dared to believe their own words of comfort and reassurance. Because as long as Enjolras would hold on; so would they.

"It's not even that bad, mon petit Ami. It's not that bad, it just looks that way. You'll be fine you'll see," Combeferre said directly into Enjolras' ear; desperately hoping it wasn't too big of a lie. He glanced at Grantaire and frowned confused when he noticed the impressive black and blue decorating his right eye. _What on earth happened?_ Combeferre desperately wanted to know, but now was not the time. Joly's eyes were filled with dread and concern when he beckoned him.

Combeferre nodded and looked back down at Enjolras again. "Joly needs my help now, Enjolras...to fix you up," he said quietly while he pressed their foreheads together. "Grantaire will be right here with you all the time. You just hold on to him, squeeze as hard as you want and try to listen and focus on his voice… Can you do that for me, my friend?" It took a few moments for Enjolras to nod again and Combeferre placed another kiss on his sweaty forehead. Then carefully shifted away from his young friend so that Grantaire could take his place.

"Take his hands. Both of them, Grantaire, and hold them tight. I need you to keep talking to him; it doesn't matter what you say, as long as he hears you. You need to try and keep him conscious, alright?" Combeferre gave Grantaire a pervasive look and the cynic nodded shakily as he grabbed both Enjolras' hands and squeezed them gently. He watched Combeferre move away with wide eyes, took a deep breath and then copied the position Combeferre had occupied seconds before by leaning forwards so that he could speak directly into Enjolras' ear. He had no idea what to say, knew that Enjolras was probably not even really listening to him, but if Combeferre thought it important that he heard his voice than Grantaire would do just that. And so he babbled away about everything that came to mind including his new favourite drink which he really wanted to have right now.

* * *

In the meantime, Combeferre moved closer to Joly so that he could have a good look at the wound. He bit his lip and swallowed convulsively. _This was really bad…_ He clenched his hands into fists when he realized they were shaking and he gave Joly an anxious look. "How bad is it? What do we do?" Combeferre asked quietly so that neither of the two other boys could hear him.

Joly sighed in response and shook his head. His eyes swept over the wound and he pursed his lips. Very carefully, he reached out and dabbed the same cloth Madame Hucheloup had used around the injured area. "It-uh… It's pretty bad, 'Ferre…" Joly muttered lowly. "He already lost a lot of blood and even though Madame here has cleaned the wound with alcohol, it already looks infected… As far as I can see, the piece of wood is smooth, so as long as Enjolras doesn't move too much I don't think it will leave splinters when we pull it out. It's a deep wound, but at least it didn't go all the way through."

Combeferre blinked rapidly, nodded and took the bottle of alcohol that Joly handed to him.

"What we need to do first is clean this area thoroughly," Joly continued nervously, "We need to pour some of the alcohol straight into the wound before we pull the object out. Then again after it's out. And it's going to hurt him a lot, but it's necessary if we want to even have a chance to control the infection. A-And then… W-We can't stitch the wound up; we don't have the time. He has already bled a lot and he's going to bleed even harder when this thing is out… He'll bleed to death before we're able to close the wound properly…"

Combeferre's heart sank. He already knew where Joly was going with this and it scared him, because that wasn't going to happen. His thoughts were confirmed when he noticed Madame Hucheloup preparing a fire. "No…" he whispered, "Joly… we can't. Not without any anesthetics or something to help with the pain…"

"Cauterization is his only chance right now, 'Ferre. I'm sorry, but we really don't have any other option if we even want to try and save him."

Combeferre kept shaking his head. They couldn't do this to his young friend.

"The wound is quite easy to close this way, Combeferre," Joly continued, "It'll be painful, yes, but it will be the quickest way to help him and the most productive way too. We really don't have another choice…You know we don't…"

The bespectacled student bit his lip and looked up at Enjolras. His friend's head was carefully laid in Grantaire's lap and his cynical friend was gently whispering words of comfort directly into the blonde's ear. Neither of the two had heard what Joly and Combeferre were discussing and Combeferre wondered if they should let them know what they were about to do. Well… Grantaire had to know; he had to be prepared.

"I can't do it, Joly. My hands won't stop shaking, I'll only do more damage. I can't do it."

Joly shook his head and handed Madame Hucheloup the disinfected iron spoke with a flat and square ending, telling her to put it into the fire. "I'm not asking you to do it. I don't want you to either… You've never done this procedure before, I have, so I'll do it. I just need you to hold him as tight as you can. He needs to be as still as possible. Grantaire has his arms… I'm going to ask Madame Hucheloup to hold his legs and you need to hold his torso…"

Another few desperate tears fell from Combeferre's eyes, but he nodded. It had to be done. Joly was right… This was the only way. If they didn't do it, Enjolras would definitely die and that just wasn't an option. He glanced back at his best friend again and bit his lip as he felt his heart break painfully. He moved back to Grantaire and gently tapped his shoulder to explain to him what they were about to do. Grantaire's eyes grew comically wide and if the situation wouldn't be this terrible, Combeferre might have laughed. "You need to hold him as still as possible, R," Combeferre said quietly, squeezing his shoulder in a vain attempt to reassure him.

* * *

The following minutes broke everyone's heart. Madame Hucheloup, Combeferre and Grantaire did their best to keep Enjolras' writhing body as still as possible while Joly first cleaned the wound, then pulled out the stick, then cleaned the wound again and finally seared it close. The wretched sounds Enjolras was making would forever haunt their minds; would forever plague their dreams. To Enjolras himself, the torture seemed to go on forever. He didn't understand what he had done to deserve this. Why were they hurting him so? Why couldn't he move? Why wasn't there anyone to save him from this? The pain was blinding and indescribable.

It was pure bliss when his brain finally decided it had had enough and shut itself down; blocking out everything and everyone. Enjolras fell into blissful oblivion.

TBC.

* * *

_(So there you have it. It isn't very long, but I hope it was okay. Please review and let me know what you think? Thanks)_


	4. Chapter 4

Grantaire sat motionless in the corner of Madame Hucheloups living room. He felt hollow, yet his heart was heavy. He didn't know how much time had passed since they moved Enjolras unconscious body away from the Café and he didn't know how long he had been sitting there in the corner. The only thing he was aware of, was that his hands and his clothes were covered in blood. Enjolras' blood. All he could hear were the miserable, wretched sounds his young leader had made. All he could see was the confused, betrayed look Enjolras had given them just before he passed out.

Everything had passed in a blur for Grantaire after Combeferre and Joly had finally came to help. He had done what Combeferre told him. He had talked to Enjolras to try and keep him conscious; he had held his arms in a death grip to keep the wounded man from moving; he had helped to move Enjolras to Madame Hucheloups guest bedroom; and he had brought the two medical students everything they needed to take care of their friend. But he had done it all without really being mentally present. He couldn't fathom what had happened. It was all just too unreal. How could it be real? Everything that took place in the past hour and a half had felt like a nightmare. Terrible, yes, but still, it felt like a dream. Not real.

After Joly had cauterized the grotesque wound in Enjolras' side, Madame Hucheloup had gone to the back of the Café to grab a large wooden plank which was probably meant to function as a tabletop one day. They had carefully placed Enjolras on the makeshift stretcher and carried him to Hucheloups house which was only a few feet away from the Café. They took him to the guest bedroom and once there, Joly and Combeferre immediately started to take care of the wounds. Grantaire watched how they set his broken leg and how they coated Enjolras' side injury with a thick layer of lotion before bandaging it. When the two medical students were about to undress Enjolras to wash the dirt and sweat away, Grantaire and Madame Hucheloup were ordered out of the room to wait there. Enjolras had remained unconscious through it all.

When Grantaire left the guest room, he had walked towards the corner and sank down to the floor. He ignored all Madame Hucheloups offers to get him to drink or eat something. He was in some sort of trance and his heart ached with worry. Enjolras' hurt and vulnerable look haunted his mind and he felt as if he had seen a side of his Apollo that he wasn't allowed to experience. Something very private that wasn't meant for him. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall behind him. This whole day had been a disaster. And it was only eleven in the morning. Grantaire briefly wondered how long it would be for the other Amis to arrive back at the Café. After Enjolras had sent them all out to the city, they weren't supposed to have a meeting again until later that evening. But they had to be notified, hadn't they? Grantaire uttered a miserable sigh. Even if he wanted to, he was far too shaky to leave his spot on the floor. All the adrenaline had left his body the minute he was forced to leave Enjolras' side and it left him drained of all energy.

But as soon as he heard the sound of a door opening, his eyes snapped open and he was back on his feet within two seconds. He watched how a tired Joly stepped out of the bedroom, the soon-to-be-doctor's clothes were covered in blood as well. Joly offered Grantaire a sad smile and made his way to the kitchen table where he sat down and pulled a slightly trembling hand through his hair.

Grantaire's eyes shifted from the bedroom door to Joly and back. He made up his mind and took a seat next to his friend at the table. He wished nothing more than to be with Enjolras, but he wasn't sure if he was allowed in yet and he didn't want to invade on another private moment. Combeferre was still in there with his best friend and Grantaire didn't know if he would appreciate it if Grantaire came rushing in there without permission.

"H-How is he doing?" Grantaire asked quietly. His voice was hoarse and he winced when he realized how shaky it sounded. Madame Hucheloup, who had gone into the kitchen as soon as Joly appeared from the bedroom, joined them at the table and offered Joly a glass of water, which he gladly took. She looked just as worried as Grantaire felt.

Joly drank the water and let out a dejected sigh. He shook his head and dragged his hand across his face. "He's still alive…" he mumbled softly and he tried to swallow down the lump that had formed in his throat. "But that's about the only good news I can give you."

Grantaire couldn't help but think that that was some pretty good news indeed, but he kept his mouth shut and waited for Joly to continue.

"He's still unconscious. The break in his leg is a bad one. It's going to take him a long while to rehabilitate and even then it's still likely that it will never fully heal." Joly paused for a moment and chewed on the inside of his cheek. A habit he had whenever he was nervous or anxious. "The side injury… It's a miracle it didn't hit any vital organs… But it's infected. We don't know how bad an infection it is yet, but he's running a fever already and with the amount of blood he has lost…" Joly didn't finish his sentence, but both Grantaire and Madame Hucheloup knew what it meant. Enjolras' body had taken a lot already and it wasn't strong enough to fight off a serious infection on top of everything else.

The three of them sat in silence for a few minutes, all lost in their own thoughts, until Madame Hucheloup spoke up. "I should go back to the Café and see about the damage there… Your friends need to be notified as well, I assume… Will they come back to Musain after their tasks?"

Joly shook his head slowly. "I'm not sure. We weren't due back for another meeting until later this evening, though some might come back in for a drink or two. But you're right, they should be notified. Maybe Gavroche can seek them out, I don't have the energy to roam around Paris right now and I want to stay here in case Combeferre needs my help. And I don't think R is up for it either… Courfeyrac should definitely know what happened as soon as possible though… just in case. He and Enjolras are very close."

At the mentioning of Gavroche, Grantaire felt his heart tighten a little. He hadn't seen the poor boy after he had sent him off to get help. "Where is Gavroche, anyway? Did he not follow you and Combeferre back to the Café? He saw what happened… He must be frightened," Grantaire mumbled worriedly.

Joly shook his head. "He didn't come in with us, though he did follow us back here. I must admit I was too worried to keep an eye on him, but I think he's at his own hiding spot, behind the Café. He usually goes there when he's scared…Though he'd never admit it, of course."

Madame Hucheloup stood from her chair, squeezed Grantaire's shoulder and gave Joly a reassuring smile. "I'll find him," she said, "And I'll make sure he's alright before I ask him to go get your friends. Don't you boys worry about that. Please feel at home here and help yourself to anything you might need. It's the least I can do. I will return as soon as I can."

Both Joly and Grantaire nodded their thanks to the woman and watched her leave the room. When she was gone, Joly briefly took hold of Grantaire's hand and squeezed it tight. "You did a great job back there, R. I know it must've been horrible, but the fact that you kept him conscious and fighting for such a long time… I sincerely doubt if Enjolras would still be here if it weren't for you."

Grantaire swallowed thickly. The compliment sounded weird to his ears, because he didn't feel like he deserved it. Joly didn't know how he had failed their leader only minutes before the accident. "It was the only thing I could do… He didn't want me to leave him alone," Grantaire said quietly. "I don't know what I would've done if Gavroche hadn't showed up right then…"

"It's no use to think in 'ifs', Grantaire. Let's just be grateful for the fact that Gavroche did show up in time and be proud of yourself. You've helped Enjolras in more ways than you realize."

Grantaire just shook his head, but he didn't say anything. He wanted to believe Joly was right, but he was so disappointed with himself, that it was hard to be proud of something that seemed only logical. Of course he had stayed with Enjolras. Of course he had tried to comfort him and to encourage him to fight. Anyone would have done so…

"I've been wanting to ask you this for a while, but, well… There were more pressing matters, but what happened to your face? Did you get in a fight with someone? Are you okay?"

The question caught Grantaire off guard and he turned his head away in shame. He hadn't forgotten that Enjolras had hit him, but he didn't realize the punch had left its mark. He frowned sadly when he thought back on his argument with Enjolras and he bit his lip. "It's nothing… I…Yes, I got in a fight, but I'm fine, it doesn't hurt much. Don't worry about it."

Joly wished to know more, but something told him Grantaire wasn't willing to talk about it, so instead he settled for a skeptical look and a curt nod. "Okay, if you say so."

Neither of them spoke for a while. Then suddenly Joly seemed to realize that he was covered in someone else's blood and Grantaire saw him jump before he stood from the table and move towards the bathroom to clean himself up as much as he could. A small smile tugged at Grantaire's lips. He followed his friend to the bathroom and leaned against the doorpost. He really wanted to see Enjolras. His heart ached to be at his side again. It didn't feel right to be away from him after being with him and offering him comfort during such a painful ordeal.

He hesitatingly cleared his throat, while shoving his hands deep inside the pockets of his pants. "Joly… Do you…uhm… Do you think I can go in and see Enjolras for a bit? I mean it's perfectly fine if I can't, but… but it's just that I'm really worried and I… I need to see him. If only for a few minutes…?"

Joly looked up at him with his eyebrows raised and a slightly shocked expression on his face. "I… yes, of course, I'm so sorry Grantaire, I should have realized you wanted to see him. Stupid of me, I was just… I don't know, my mind is just all over the place. Let me check with Combeferre first, though I don't think he'll say anything different. Hold on okay, I'll be right back."

Joly hurriedly moved passed Grantaire – who smiled shyly at him – and walked towards the bedroom. He closed the door behind him, so Grantaire couldn't hear what they were saying, but he didn't really care. As long as he got to see Enjolras.

After less than a minute, Joly reappeared, still wearing the same apologetic expression on his face. "You can come in 'Taire… I'm sorry I didn't think about it earlier… Of course you want to see him."

Grantaire just shook his head. He didn't want Joly to apologize to him. It was perfectly understandable that the medical student was a bit disoriented. Besides, Grantaire would've understood if he wasn't allowed to go in. He slowly made his way to the guest bedroom. His knees buckled more with every step he took. He really wanted to see Enjolras, but he was scared too, even though he doubted that his friend could look any worse than he had while they were at the Café.

Seeing Enjolras lying motionless in the bed took his breath away. He was so very pale and he looked so much younger than he really was. Combeferre sat at his best friend's side, near his head and he held Enjolras' hand within his own. The bespectacled man looked exhausted, but he gave Grantaire a kind look and nodded to the chair on the other side of their blonde friend.

"Take a seat, 'Taire," he said gently when Grantaire remained frozen in the doorway. "It's okay, he's holding his own for now."

Grantaire nodded jerkily and moved towards the chair. He suddenly felt overwhelmed and he couldn't fight back the tears that gathered in his eyes. A small sob escaped his throat and then another and another. He couldn't help it. Seeing Enjolras again, so small and fragile, after everything that happened that morning was just too much. He covered his eyes with one hand and desperately tried to stop crying but it was no use. And it only got worse when he felt strong arms pull him in a tight embrace.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry," Grantaire muttered between sobs while he tried to move away from Combeferre. He felt pathetic.

But Combeferre only tightened his hold and shook his head. "Don't apologize, R, there's no shame in crying. It's only natural. You're scared and tired… Believe me, you're not the first nor the only one to shed tears in this room."

They stayed like that until Grantaire was able to get himself back together. He muttered a quiet thanks to Combeferre and smiled when the medical student squeezed his shoulder reassuringly before moving back to his seat next to Enjolras.

"He looks so young," Grantaire whispered after a few minutes of silence. "I mean… I know he is young, but…It's different somehow…"

Combeferre nodded. He was one of the few who had seen Enjolras in a more vulnerable, more humane state before. During their meetings, Enjolras almost looked otherworldly. Passionate, wise and strong, almost stoic and with a brilliant vibe radiating from him. But Combeferre lived with Enjolras – had lived with him ever since the young man was only a child – and he knew him in other ways then most of the Amis. Only Courfeyrac had gotten almost as close to Enjolras as Combeferre. And Grantaire knew he had caught a glimpse of the man behind the marble mask this morning.

"I know," Combeferre said with a small smile, "He always looks younger when he's hurt or even when he's just asleep. He looks more like the Enjolras I met when he was just fourteen years old."

Grantaire smiled when he tried to imagine Enjolras as a child. He once heard Combeferre tell Courfeyrac about the bright and bubbly personality he had back then and he wished he could've been a part of it. He wished he could've seen the genuine, childlike smile gracing his face instead of the serious, stoic expression he now always wore.

They were both silent for another few minutes, both content to just sit there and watch Enjolras. But then Grantaire noticed how Combeferre was examining him. He blushed a little when he looked up and saw the thoughtful, cautious expression on his friend's face. Why was Combeferre staring at him like that? But before he could ask what was wrong, Combeferre spoke up.

"R, that bruise… What happened?"

Grantaire swallowed thickly and averted his eyes. He didn't want to talk about that. What if Combeferre got mad at him… What if he would send Grantaire away again? "I…It's nothing 'Ferre… just an accident. Don't worry about it.."

Combeferre's eyes narrowed. He had already expected Grantaire would react this way. "It's not nothing Grantaire. It's seriously bruised…" He didn't believe the other man when he said it was just an accident. Something was going on. Something between Enjolras and Grantaire. He had sensed it the minute he had entered the Café earlier.

"Grantaire…" he asked carefully, keeping his voice kind and calm, "Did Enjolras hit you?"

TBC.

_Hope you liked the chapter. Please let me know and review? Thanks!_


	5. Chapter 5

_(Thanks for the support and kudos. It truly means a lot and I'm glad you're still enjoying the story. Hope you'll like this next chapter. Enjoy!)_

* * *

Grantaire pressed his lips together in a tight line and averted his eyes from Combeferre's penetrating look. Why did the medical student have to be so observant? He always seemed to know when someone had a secret or kept something from him. It was almost like he could see right through to him and it left Grantaire with an uncomfortable feeling. What was he supposed to do now? Combeferre would know it if he lied, even if Grantaire managed to keep his voice steady and clear. He already felt a blush creep us his cheeks which – he was sure – provided enough proof for his friend. But what would Combeferre think if Grantaire told the truth? Would he be mad at him? What if he didn't want him in the room with Enjolras anymore? Grantaire knew he deserved the blow Enjolras had given him, even though the blond later tried to apologize for it, but he had hoped it would be punishment enough. He didn't think he could bear it if Combeferre threw him out. And what if he told the others? What would they say? Would they banish him from the group altogether?

The doubt and reluctance to speak must have shown on his face, because Combeferre suddenly nodded and looked down at their injured friend, brushing a stray strand of hair out of Enjolras' face. When he focused his attention back on Grantaire, his eyes shone with confusion and surprise. His voice was still calm and gentle when he spoke. "Why? What happened?"

Grantaire swallowed and opened his mouth a few times, only to close it again. He didn't know how to start or what to say. He wrapped his arms around his waist just to hide his trembling, sweaty hands away from Combeferre's sight and chewed on the inside of his cheek, an annoying habit he had had ever since he was just a child.

Combeferre watched Grantaire closely. He knew his friend well enough to recognize the anxious behavior and he had seen the guilt in Grantaire's eyes many times before. The man always seemed to feel guilty about something, even though that guilt wasn't just most of the time. "R, please just tell me," Combeferre said kindly and he offered Grantaire a small smile. He knew he could be very protective of Enjolras and he could imagine that Grantaire was afraid that he'd be sent out of the room, but Combeferre was too tired to feel angry anyway and whatever might have transpired between his two friends, he doubted it was really as bad as Grantaire thought it was. He was just surprised that Enjolras had gotten violent at one of his friends. Because whatever Grantaire might think or whatever Enjolras might shout, to Combeferre and the other Amis it was clear that the two cared for each other. "I'm not going to be mad, 'Taire, I promise. I'm just worried…Why would he hit you?"

Grantaire shook his head dejectedly. He stared at Enjolras, taking in his too pale face and his shallow, irregular breathing. He was still holding his younger friend's hand and he gently closed his own around Enjolras' fingers when he noticed how cold they were. "He hit me because I deserved it," Grantaire whispered and he looked up at Combeferre with a sad smile. "I disappointed him and I insulted him and I… " Grantaire averted his eyes again and uttered another defeated sigh. "I just deserved it, 'Ferre..."

Combeferre wondered if that was indeed true. He knew Enjolras was quick to take offense and he knew his friend could get angry easily, especially when it concerned Grantaire, but he also knew that Enjolras often repented after he'd have some time to cool down and think. "Well, why do you think you deserved it?" Combeferre asked, pressing Grantaire for a more satisfactory explanation.

Another sigh. Grantaire wished Combeferre would just let it go. But his eyes were so kind and his voice so gentle and Grantaire found he couldn't to keep his friend in the dark like that. He was genuine enough and he wanted to know what happened, because he was concerned. And Grantaire knew that when Enjolras woke up, Combeferre would find out the answer anyway, because he was always able to pry any form of information from his best friend. Grantaire dragged a hand across his tired face and nodded. He would talk.

"You know when Enjolras gave everyone orders this morning… When he told everyone their certain spot in the city to spread the word of resistance… Well, when… when everyone left I asked him if I could do something as well… We actually had a nice talk for once the other night and I wanted to prove my worth to him, so I figured I could just ask and offer him my help. And he seemed hesitant at first, but…b-but then he told me that I could go to Barriere du Maine as his representative and speak with the workers there." Grantaire swallowed nervously and cast a look at Combeferre. The medical student nodded and smiled, encouraging him to go on.

"I was surprised that he decided to give me a chance. And happy too, of course. And I really wanted to do good this time. I wanted to show him that I could be trusted and that, even though I don't really believe in all the futuristic ideals you all have, I wanted him to know that I was a loyal friend and that I deserved to be part of the group…"

"You already deserve to be part of the group, R," Combeferre interrupted him quietly. He knew Grantaire always strived to get Enjolras' approval – though Combeferre had to admit that he didn't always set about it the right way – but his friend seemed to forget that the Amis consisted of more than just Enjolras and that the others had long accepted him in their group. Besides, Combeferre knew for a fact that Enjolras had accepted Grantaire as well. Why else would they discuss all their secret plans in front of the drunkard if they didn't fully trust him?

Grantaire stared at Combeferre for a second and felt a small smile tug at his lips, but it faded as soon as he continued his story. "I…uh…I went there and I knew exactly what I was going to say to them. I was prepared and I really hoped that I would succeed… But when I got there… S-some of them were…well, they were… they were playing dominoes. I told them that Enjolras sent me and I asked if I could speak with them, but they told me they wanted to finish their game first. And they told me that I should join them… And I figured that it might be useful, you know… If we bonded a little at first, maybe they would be more willing to listen to what I had to say. Besides, they were looking like they had fun and I like dominoes… So… S-so I joined them. And then… well, then one game turned into another and then another and before I knew it we were playing for about an hour."

Combeferre let out a soft sigh. He already had a hunch where this was going and just as he had expected this whole thing was apparently based on a misunderstanding. Of course, Grantaire could have been more persistent, but it was obvious that he had the best intentions.

Grantaire heard Combeferre sigh and he felt his heart sink, thinking the medical student was disappointed in him too. He swallowed thickly and took a shaky breath before he continued.

"A-And then… then Enjolras suddenly showed up there… I don't know why, but I think he maybe wanted to check up on me… Maybe he didn't really think I could be trusted with such a task and he was right… And he was so angry… I've never seen him that angry before. He left in such a hurry that I was almost not able to catch up with him and when I did he told me to leave him alone… But I wanted to explain to him… I h-had to. B-but he didn't want to hear it. He…H-he told me to leave and to never come back. I just followed him h-however… I followed him all the way back to the Café… To the backroom and he was so furious. He started yelling at me….H-How I dared to come after him when he told me not to… A-and then I said that he… that if he sent me away like that, he was no better than those he so passionately opposed…" Grantaire sniffed miserably. He still couldn't believe he said that. He wished he'd be able to keep a better hold on his quick tongue. To think before he spoke. "That's when he hit me…" He whispered.

Combeferre closed his eyes for a second. _That would do it_. He had to admit, that had been a low blow. Especially because Enjolras had been fighting his entire life to be free from his father's bourgeois hold on him. For a long time, Enjolras had feared he was no better than him, just because he grew up in a wealthy family that didn't do anything to help the poor. His father had been cruel to those in need and he had prevented Enjolras to help them. Combeferre remembered the time when Enjolras told him that his father had once beaten him senseless when he tried to give his pocket money away for nothing and that for a long time his younger friend had been too terrified to try and help again. To tell him that he was no better than those he fought, for Enjolras felt like a confirmation of his childhood fears and shames. It hit too close to home. Of course Grantaire didn't know that. There were few who knew about Enjolras' younger years.

"He told me I had disappointed him and humiliated him and he asked me why I it was my goal in life to mock everything he does… B-but it isn't 'Ferre! I don't want to humiliate h-him… I don't know why I always provoke him… I-I just like arguing with him… And he just seemed genuinely confused as to why he even cared… T-that's… That's when the floor beneath him gave way and he fell…"

Grantaire squeezed his eyes shut as he suddenly relived those terrifying moments. The look of shock and confusion on Enjolras' face… The fear that was evident in his eyes when they locked on Grantaire's… The gut-wrenching, soul penetrating, pain filled scream… The vulnerable, uncertain and young boy that Enjolras had somehow changed into… The few tears that Grantaire had never seen before on his Apollo's face.

"I'm so sorry, Combeferre… I told you, I deserved it… I just… I don't know. I don't know what came over me… I guess I'm just not good enough… B-but he can't die… I-if he dies then it's my fault! H-he wouldn't have even gone back to the Café if it wasn't for me… This never would've happened if I'd just did as he told me…"

Combeferre watched Grantaire with a concerned frown and shook his head. He hated to see so much grief and guilt in his friend. And he knew that Enjolras wouldn't want Grantaire to feel this way either once he had had a chance to explain himself. "That's not true, Grantaire," he said quietly, reaching out over Enjolras' still form to take hold of the cynics hand. "The fact that the floor gave way had nothing to do with you. It would have happened anyway. Maybe not to Enjolras, but then to someone else. Him lying here and getting injured is not on you. Don't blame yourself for that. Instead be grateful that you followed him… If you hadn't been there and he had fallen we would've lost him for sure."

Grantaire looked at Combeferre with wide eyes. He had really expected the medical student to be angry… He had expected to be thrown out. But all he could find in Combeferre's eyes was compassion and silent understanding. It didn't make any sense to him.

"As for why he hit you," Combeferre continued softly, "I don't think it's fair to say that you deserved it, although it wasn't a wise thing to say. There are few things with which you can really hurt Enjolras and that was one of them. I'm not going to explain that, because there's a whole story behind it and it is not my place to tell you… But you didn't know that and I'm sure Enjolras will regret his action…"

Grantaire swallowed. "He actually tried to apologize to me earlier… I-I figured he was about to give up and wanted to clear his conscience… I didn't accept…I told him he could apologize when he was better again… I'm sorry… " Grantaire suddenly felt horrible, but Combeferre only smiled and shook his head.

"Don't be… I wouldn't' be surprised if it actually made him fight harder… Once Enjolras sets his mind to something, he'll do anything in his power to achieve it."

Both men were silent for a short while. Combeferre drew soft circles on the back of Enjolras' hand with his thumb and prayed for his friend to be alright. His heart had been locked in an iron grip ever since he had first laid eyes on him back in the Café. He had a constant grip on Enjolras' wrist, so he could monitor his heartbeat. He didn't know what he would do if that kind, passionate heart would suddenly stop beating. Combeferre cared for Enjolras so much, he didn't know if he even wanted to go on without him. He didn't know if he could.

Grantaire had focused his attention back on Enjolras too. In his head, he kept up a silent mantra of apologies and prayers. He appreciated Combeferre for telling him that he shouldn't blame himself, but it wasn't that easy. If Enjolras didn't survive this, Grantaire was sure he would never forgive himself.

"Enjolras cares about you, Grantaire," Combeferre said suddenly, keeping his eyes on his best friend. "That's why he got so angry… He wants you to believe in what we try to achieve, he wants to convince you. I don't think he was that disappointed in you but more so in himself because he allowed himself to hope that he had finally reeled you in. But even if he didn't, you should know that he cares about you. That he sees you as a friend and as a part of our group. You need to know that… just in case."

Grantaire didn't say anything but felt his heart clench painfully. He wanted to believe Combeferre, he really did, but he couldn't. Not yet. Not after what had happened. He opened his mouth to say just that, but was immediately silenced when he saw Combeferre move forward in a quick motion. The medical student cupped the side of Enjolras' head and spoke soft words of encouragement to his young friend. Grantaire's heart skipped a beat but he frowned when there was no change in Enjolras' facial features.

And then he felt it. A small pressure in his hand. Grantaire swallowed thickly and held his breath as Combeferre tried to coax Enjolras back to consciousness. His throat felt too constricted to say anything and all he was able to do was squeeze the hand in his with all his might.

TBC.

* * *

 


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

With a somewhat disappointed sigh, Combeferre dropped back in his chair. For a few minutes he had dared to hope that Enjolras was waking up. He had felt his best friend's hand move within his own and he knew Grantaire felt the same thing if his expectant face was anything to go by. But no matter how hopeful the two friends were, Enjolras' face remained slack and his eyes did not open. And soon enough the small twitching of his fingers stopped as well.

"Damnit," Combeferre whispered softly and he dragged a tired hand across his face. He shouldn't be this surprised. Enjolras had lost a lot of blood and his body was traumatized. It only natural that he was unconscious and according to Joly he could stay that way for quite a while, maybe even a few days. But feeling his friend's hand move within his own had caused Combeferre's heart to flutter with hope and the medical student couldn't stop himself from doing his very best to coax Enjolras back to awareness. The disappointment and fear when he failed to do so made his heart heavy with newfound worry. Opposite from him, he saw Grantaire deflate visibly, almost like a punctured air balloon. The sorrow in his friend's face spoke volumes and Combeferre wished there was something he could do to take away the guilt and pain in Grantaire's heart. It didn't belong there. Just as Enjolras didn't belong in this bed.

"What if he never wakes up?" Grantaire suddenly interrupted the silence, his eyes filling with unwanted tears. "What if I never get the change to apologize or make it up to him? 'Ferre… What do I do then? He needs to know… There is so much he needs to know… There is so much he needs to do... He has to wake up..."

"He'll wake up," Combeferre said just as quietly, his own eyes not leaving Enjolras' still face. Though the medical student was just as worried as Grantaire – maybe even more so – and though his heart ached to have to see his best friend lie so still and pale in the bed, there was one thing that Combeferre knew for sure. There was one thing he did not doubt. Enjolras would wake up. Simply because there was no other choice. There was too much that needed to be done; too much that Enjolras had to accomplish. And that wasn't even the main reason. The main reason of why Enjolras had to wake up, was because he had made a promise. A promise to Combeferre that he wouldn't part this world without him. The same promise that Combeferre had made to Enjolras. The older student had made that very clear the last time when Enjolras was robbed and nearly got himself killed in the proces. They had an agreement and neither of them was leaving without the other. If they went down, they would do so together. That was the only way for them, even though both boys knew it wasn't something they could actually control.

"He'll wake up, 'Taire," Combeferre said again, with a little more power to his voice this time. "He has to, you see. Like you say, there is much he needs to know and there is much he needs to do... Needs to change... He'll have to wake up. He doesn't get any other option. It's as simple as that… So you see, 'Taire, he'll wake up. Just be patient. It will all be fine."

Grantaire didn't say anything but squeezed Enjolras' hand tightly while watching Combeferre with a worried frown. His words did nothing to comfort the drunkard. Not at all. If anything, they left him more fearful, because if Enjolras truly didn't wake up, then there was a big chance that their revolutionary group would not only lose one friend, but two. Or three… Because what life was there left for Grantaire if Enjolras died? He loved all the Amis, he truly did. But the only thing that gave his life purpose, was their Golden Leader. Without him, Grantaire would just be lost. Without his light, he would forever be in darkness.

Combeferre's quiet voice snapped Grantaire out of his thoughts only to realize that his friend wasn't speaking to him, but had focused his attention back on Enjolras.

"Won't you, Julien?" Combeferre whispered softly as he carded his hand through the blond curls and let it rest there. He brought Enjolras' hand up and gently kissed the bruised knuckles, unaware of the concerned look Grantaire was giving him. "You made me a promise, remember. And you never break a promise… So, you will wake up. You will. I know you will. You never disappoint me."

Grantaire had difficulty swallowing passed the growing lump in his throat and he had to press his lips together to prevent his bottom lip from quivering. This wasn't right. None of it was right. Enjolras lying motionless and pale in a bed was wrong. Combeferre breaking down and losing it was wrong. Gavroche having to witness the grotesque injury in his role model's side was wrong. Joly being forced to do a cauterization on his leader was wrong. The Amis not knowing what the hell happened was wrong. Grantaire not getting a chance to apologize was wrong. Enjolras dying was wrong. So wrong.

* * *

He opened his mouth to say something; to offer some words of comfort to Combeferre, just as the medical student had tried with him earlier, but the sudden loud voices behind the bedroom door shut him up. Both Grantaire and Combeferre looked up shocked to the bang of the door opening and watched how a panicked, disheveled Courfeyrac burst into the room. He was pale and sweating and Grantaire guessed he must have been running a long way if the panting was anything to go by. Behind him a confused Joly shrugged his shoulders as if to apologize for their friend's sudden entrance.

Courfeyrac came to a stop in the middle of the room, looking at Enjolras as if his friend had sprung a second head. He shook his head and slowly moved closer to the bed, immediately taking hold of the hand Combeferre had reached out to him. "'Vroche… Gavroche… H-He told me what happened. I didn't believe him. G-God… Is he alright? Has he woken up yet? Will he be okay? Is he in pain? How long has he been like this? 'Ferre, why isn't he waking up?"

The questions tumbled from Courfeyrac's mouth like a waterfall and he didn't give anyone the chance to actually answer them. Tears gradually made their way down his cheeks, the sight of his close friend so still in the bed being too much. He pressed his forehead against Enjolras' and took a deep breath to calm himself down. He knew he was rambling, he always did when he was scared. But who could blame him. One minute he was casually talking to some of the students Enjolras had send him to and then another minute Gavroche came running to him, in tears, screaming that Enjolras had been pierced by a stake and was going to die. Courfeyrac was sure his heart had stopped beating right at that moment only to pound freakishly fast the second he started running back.

Combeferre placed a comforting hand on his friend's back and smiled sympathetically at Grantaire who was staring at Courfeyrac with wide eyes, still a little shocked by his friend's sudden entrance. "Calm down, Courf…" he said quietly after a few moments, "He's still hanging on…" The medical student pulled Courfeyrac away from Enjolras and into a tight hug, allowing him to cry on his shoulder just as Grantaire had done less than an hour ago.

Courfeyrac melted into the embrace and slowly started to calm down. When sobs were no longer wracking his body, he sniffed loudly and carefully sat down on the bed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, 'Ferre?" he whispered, voice still thick with emotion and tears.

"It means he's fighting," Joly interrupted gently before Combeferre could answer. "It means there is hope yet." The older medical student came to stand behind Grantaire and placed a firm hand on the drunkards shoulder, squeezing softly.

Courfeyrac stared at Joly for a second and then slowly nodded his head. It didn't really do much to settle his pounding heart, but at least his friend was still there. Still with them. Still fighting. He suddenly grinned and ruffled Enjolras' hair. "Course he is," he chuckled lightly, sounding a little more like himself, "He's a fighter... He never gives up. He'll be alright, right 'Ferre?" Courfeyrac gave his bespectacled friend a pleading look. Combeferre forced himself to smile and nodded. "Yes, he'll be alright."

Grantaire tried to ignore the soft sigh escaping from the retreating person behind him. Joly might be the more rational one at this point, but Grantaire didn't want to hear honest or rational opinions. He needed the same thing as Combeferre and Courfeyrac. He needed Enjolras to be alright.

Grantaire watched how the two friends huddled closer together next to Enjolras, with Combeferre explaining to Courfeyrac the things that happened after ther friend had fallen, and he felt a strange pang of jealousy in his heart. The three of them had such a special bond and Grantaire wished he could have something like that with someone. Preferably with Enjolras, of course, but he didn't think that would ever happen. He looked down at his hands - which were still folded around Enjolras' left hand – and rubbed soft circles on the skin with his thumb. Now that Courfeyrac was here, Grantaire felt like he was intruding on something private. He felt like he didn't belong there with them and it hurt, because he really didn't want to leave again. He didn't think he could stand it to be seperated from Enjolras now that it was all too clear that their blonde friend was hanging by a thread. He couldn't bear it if he left and Enjolras' heart stopped beating. Grantaire unconsciously tightened his hold on the hand in his own and tore his gaze away from the duo opposite of him. Instead he focused his attention back on Enjolras. His heart almost jumped out of his chest and skipped multiple beats when he realized that his Apollo's eyes had opened to slits and were staring at the ceiling.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac both looked up at hearing Grantaire's sudden distress and Combeferre nearly choked on a gasp when he saw that Enjolras was awake. He immediately leaned forward, cupped the side of Enjolras' face and gently turned his head towards him. Courfeyrac was right beside him. Grantaire stayed in his seat, but held Enjolras' hand in a death grip and watched with wide eyes how Combeferre tried to get his best friend's attention.

For a few seconds, Enjolras didn't respond at all, just kept staring straight ahead as if he wasn't really awake yet. But then suddenly his face contorted in a painful grimace and he let out a miserable, quiet whimper. The sound broke Grantaire's heart. Enjolras wasn't supposed to sound like that. He wasn't supposed to sound so weak and small. It wasn't right. The grip he had on the blonde's hand tightened even more when he felt Enjolras start to squeeze back in a desperate attempt to alleviate some of the pain.

"Julien," Combeferre said softly, leaning so close to Enjolras that he was whispering directly in his ear, "It's okay...You're okay... Try to breathe through it, mon Petit. I know it hurts... I know you're in pain... Please stay still... Don't try to move... We're right here, you're okay..."

Tears escaped Enjolras' eyes and he desperately squeezed them shut as he tried to curl into himself. A whispered plea of Combeferre's name escaped his lips, begging him with only one word to make it stop. To help him. To make it okay.

Combeferre turned away from Enjolras' face for a second, looking at Grantaire with tears in his eyes. "R, get Joly back in here."

TBC.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

Pain. Overriding, violent pain.

That was the only thing that Enjolras was able to think about. No other words came to mind. No other feelings were registered. He was only aware of one thing and that was the excruciating white hot flaring pain that started somewhere in his side and radiated all the way through his whole body. It felt like someone had set him on fire from the inside out, burning away his muscles; his bones… and yet, Enjolras was shivering from immense cold. As if he was stuck naked in a frozen lake. He didn't understand. How could one be burning alive and freezing to death at the same time? That wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible. But then why did it feel like it?

Enjolras was vaguely aware of a sound leaving his lips. A miserable, wretched noise that sounded a lot like those heartbreaking cries one could often hear from the lost children in the Parisian night. He wished he could take it back, because that wasn't like him. He didn't make sounds like that. But then again, he had never been in this amount of pain before, so maybe it was justified to make sounds like that. It was all very confusing and Enjolras didn't know what to make of it, because all he knew was the violent pain that coursed through his body. Blurry images passed his vision and Enjolras wasn't sure if they were memories or part of a dream or nightmare. What he did know was that they were far from pleasant and he wished they would go away. Dealing with the pain was already hard enough.

Another violent wave of stabbing pain spiked in his side and Enjolras desperately tried to curl in on himself, like he always did whenever he was sick, scared or in pain. There was something there though that prevented him from doing so. His arms were locked in an iron grip and soon enough his legs were kept in place as well. Another whimper left Enjolras' lips. Why couldn't he move? Who were these people that tortured him so? What had he done to deserve this punishment? Enjolras didn't understand and all he really wanted was to make himself as small as possible and hide away from all the pain and confusion. He didn't care that it might be childish and he didn't care that some might find it weak. Enjolras was in too much of a miserable place to care about things like that. There was only one thing he cared about at that moment and it was to alleviate the intense pain as much as possible.

"Julien, please stop moving… Please stay still… It's okay, you're okay… don't fight us…"

Enjolras had been hearing the same words for a while now but he still wasn't able to understand the exact meaning of them. The voice behind the words sounded familiar, but Enjolras couldn't quite place it. What he did comprehend was that the voices belonged to the people who tried to keep him still; who held his arms and legs in such a firm grip that for a second Enjolras' mind was distracted from the pain in his side and focused on the pressure on his limbs. Just for a second though, because as soon as he did, the injury flared up unforgivingly. Enjolras unconsciously shouted a name, though the word sounded broken and was only muttered quietly.

"I know it hurts, mon Petit, I know it hurts. But you have to stop struggling. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here, Julien…"

Enjolras didn't understand. How could that voice sound so familiar, so gentle and so kind while at the same time it belonged to one of the people that were holding him down, that were hurting him? His mind was too foggy to register what was being said to him and too dazed to link the familiar voice to a person. He tried to open his eyes to get a good look at these torturous people, but every time he tried, his vision blurred with tears of pain and he squeezed them shut again. He wished he could sink back in that blissful darkness. He wished he could be engulfed by that oblivious nothingness just so that he didn't have to deal with the pain and confusion anymore. He wished he would simply pass out again so that he could stop making those miserable sounds.

"Julien…"

The voice was there again, even softer this time and very close to his ear. Enjolras could almost concentrate on it. He would have succeeded if it wasn't for the sudden jolt of pain that shot through him when someone touched the wound on his side. This time Enjolras knew for certain he was crying out loud, because the hand that was touching him suddenly flinched away and the voice that was whispering in his ear cracked before stopping completely. His arms and legs however were still trapped in the same iron grip that never loosened its hold.

A broken, desperate sob escaped from Enjolras' throat and he was gasping for breath. Where were his friends? He needed his friends here. He needed them to come and save him from whatever these people were doing to him. Enjolras was scared. He was more than scared. He was terrified. Everything had all blurred into one giant, painful, chaotic mess and no matter how hard he tried, the young revolutionary could not make sense of it.

His heart started racing in blind panic when strong, firm fingers were clawing at his mouth. Enjolras tried to squirm away, but it was no use. He was hardly able to move at all. He cried and whimpered when someone pried his lips apart and poured a foul tasting liquid in his mouth. Before he could spit it out, there was a hand pressed against his mouth and two fingers pinching his nose so there was nothing else he could do but swallow it all down. They repeated the action two times more. Enjolras was ready to beg them. He was ready to fall down to his knees and beg them to please stop doing this to him.

Soon enough Enjolras felt the muscles in his arms and legs go numb and he was no longer able to struggle against the firm hold. The pain – although still very much present – ebbed away ever so slightly and he no longer felt as if he was on fire. It was a pleasant feeling, though the sudden loss of control he had over his body unsettled him greatly. The hand at his side was back again, but there was nothing he could do about it now that he had seemingly lost all of his strength. He just lay there, with his face contorted into a painful grimace and his eyes still squeezed tightly shut, and he allowed his torturers to do with him whatever they wanted.

"Julien…"

That voice again. So close and so caring. Enjolras recognized the voice. Now that his mind was no longer completely filled with pain, the young blonde was able to concentrate better on it. He trusted that voice.

"Julien… Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes for me? Please… mon ami chéri, please open your eyes for me?"

Enjolras allowed his head to fall to the side, closer to the person the voice belonged to. He understood what the person was telling him. He knew he was asking him to open his eyes. But Enjolras was afraid to do that. He was afraid of what he might see. What if the person talking to him was one of those torturers? What if he was going to hurt him? What if it was all just a trick? He let out a small noise of distress and flinched when there was a sudden hand in his hair.

"It's just me, my friend. You're safe, you're okay. Please open your eyes for me?"

Fingers were gently carding through his tousled curls and Enjolras found it strangely soothing. And familiar. The gesture calmed his nerves and settled his  
fast beating heart. Very slowly, Enjolras dared to open his eyes to look at the person who was talking to him; who kept up that quiet mantra of reassurances and encouragements. His vision was still very blurry and it took him a few moments to focus on the figure sitting next to him. When it finally cleared, Enjolras found himself looking at a kind, yet tired, bespectacled face. The face was smiling at him and his eyes shone with tears of deep concern and love. Enjolras blinked slowly and stared at the person. He knew the face. He loved the person the face belonged to and he would entrust him with his life.

"Ferre." It was nothing more than a breathed whisper, but that whisper and that word spoke volumes to both Enjolras and Combeferre.

* * *

 

Combeferre wanted to cry when Enjolras finally opened his eyes. He felt overwhelmed when those crystal blue orbs, filled with pain, confusion and exhaustion, were staring up at him.

"There you are…," he whispered very quietly, voice cracking in the middle. He leaned in closer and pressed a feather light kiss on Enjolras' burning forehead. His heart was still hammering in his chest – an aftereffect of the past twenty minutes in which Combeferre had been forced to see his best friend in a state he never wanted to see him in ever again. He knew he would forever hear those miserable cries and those wretched whimpers. He was certain he would forever be haunted by it.

Everything had gone so wrong so fast after Enjolras woke up. For a second Combeferre had dared to hope that his friend was doing relatively okay… But that hope was crushed soon enough when Enjolras' face turned pained and his friend started moving around in the bed in a desperate attempt to curl himself into a tight ball. Combeferre could've known he would do that. Enjolras always did that when he wasn't feeling good. He had tried to get through to his friend; tried to tell him that he had to stay still because of his injuries but Enjolras didn't hear him – too lost in his own misery.

Both Courfeyrac and Grantaire had gone quiet and were terrified. They had never seen their strong leader in a state like this. A state which much resembled a lost and vulnerable child. Neither of them knew what to do or how to help and it drove them mad. Even Courfeyrac, who was usually able to make anyone feel better was now anxiously biting his lip and stood a few feet away from the broken guide and chief. Grantaire looked close to breaking down himself and was immensely grateful when Combeferre told him that he had to go and get Joly.

When Joly entered the room, the soon-to-be-doctor immediately went into medical mode. That was the great thing about Joly. He could go from caring friend to professional doctor in a second and he didn't shy away from ordering the others around and doing what he thought was best for his patient at that moment, no matter how said patient complained or struggled. Combeferre was glad to have someone as Joly at his side right now, because he was sure that he was in no state himself to work on Enjolras. His heart was beating far too fast and his fingers were shaking violently as he tried to link them together with those of his best friend. True to his character, Joly immediately barked out orders, telling Courfeyrac to hold down Enjolras' arms and Grantaire his legs so that their poor patient was not able to move and hurt himself any further.

Joly didn't give Combeferre any orders and everybody who was present knew why. There was only one task for the bespectacled student right now and that was to try and get Enjolras to calm down as much as possible. At this point it was the most important task out of all, because their younger friend was panicking and shaking from pain and fever.

Combeferre had done his very best to reassure his ailing friend, to sooth him and to calm him down, while Joly took away the blankets and part of Enjolras' clothes to start and cool his body down with wet cloths. The minute they touched the blonde's burning skin, Enjolras whimpered and struggled even harder to get away from the iron grip Courfeyrac and Grantaire had on him. No matter what Combeferre said; no matter how hard he squeezed Enjolras' hand, it was clear to them that their leader was too far lost in his own head. The bespectacled student felt his heart break at the realization that his words did nothing to reassure his best friend.

The whole thing had gone to hell when Joly wanted to check out the injury in Enjolras' side. As soon as he touched the bandage, Enjolras went rigid and screamed out in pure agony, causing not only Combeferre's broken heart to shatter further but those of the others as well. Courfeyrac was in tears, Grantaire was pale as a sheet and it was nothing short of a miracle that he was still able to keep such a strong hold on his Apollo's legs and even Joly was momentarily shocked out of his professional mode.

It was at that point that Joly decided that it was no use continuing like this. He knew Enjolras had very bad experiences with Laudanum and other numbing drugs and he knew it was still dangerous to weaken Enjolras' body even further that way, but they didn't have another choice. It would be torture to go on without drugging their friend and take away at least the edge of the severe pain he was in. Joly had told Combeferre and the others with pain in his heart that they were going to have to force the liquid down his throat and it was nearly unbearable to watch the confused look on Enjolras face, let alone hear the defeated sounds he made.

But it did have the desired effect and soon enough Enjolras' body started to relax and his struggling turned weaker. Tears were still gradually falling from their younger friend's eyes and at that point Combeferre thought it best if the others – safe for Joly – left the room. Enjolras was too confused and too feverish to focus on more than one person. The fewer people that were in there now, the better and there was no way on earth that Combeferre was going anywhere. He had asked Grantaire and Courfeyrac if they could step outside for a while, to give them some space. This time it was Grantaire who had to pull a devastated Courfeyrac away from the bed just as Madame Hucheloup had done with him earlier that morning. Joly promised them they were allowed back in as soon as Enjolras had calmed down a little or when he was back asleep.

While Joly examined the wound, Combeferre had resumed his attempts to get Enjolras' attention. It took a few minutes more, but the bespectacled student could have died happily when those bright blue eyes finally opened and focused on him. It didn't matter that his friend was too weak to form any sentences. It didn't matter that he wasn't able to say words other than his name. The fact that he was watching Combeferre and actually seeing him too already meant so much.

"Ferre…" Enjolras whispered again, as he weakly tried to close his hand around that of his friend. He let out a frustrated noise of distress when he couldn't do it.

Combeferre was quick to grasp Enjolras' limp hand in both of his own and he gently kissed the pale knuckles before again pressing a kiss on his friend's clammy brow. "I'm right here, Julien… You're okay. You're going to be okay. Don't be scared, nothing bad is going to happen to you. I promise… You just need to rest and get better. That's all you have to do. And I will be here the whole time. Don't be scared, mon petit ami, I promise that you're safe. Do you believe me?"

Enjolras blinked a few times and made an unintelligible noise out of which Combeferre couldn't make an answer. He just repeated his encouragements over and over again and tried to comfort his friend as much as possible. It was only a matter of time until Enjolras would be back asleep anyway. A quick glance to Joly told him that his friend was nearly done with his examinations and wanted to speak to him.

"Hurts…"

Combeferre squeezed Enjolras' hand tightly and rested their foreheads together for a moment. "I know it hurts, Julien… I know you're in pain. Why don't you try to go and get some sleep, alright? I won't leave your side, I promise. Just close your eyes and try to focus on my voice and my touch." He squeezed Enjolras' hand again to emphasize his words.

Enjolras looked at Combeferre a few moments longer and then allowed his eyes to drift back shut. He was out within seconds.

"Combeferre," Joly said quietly, waiting for his friend to look at him instead of his young friend in the bed. "The infection is getting worse. I… T-there are things that I can think of doing, but I don't want to do them without a second opinion. He needs a real doctor. Fast."  
  
TBC.


	8. Chapter 8

Grantaire let out a small sigh as he sank a little further back into the cushions of Madame Hucheloups couch. He nervously fumbled with his fingers, no longer able to keep them still because of his desperate desire to get a drink. He knew he would feel better if he'd just take a sip from one of the wine bottles he knew Madame Hucheloup kept somewhere hidden in the house, but he just couldn't get himself to do it. Courfeyrac sat next to him, his head resting on Grantaire's shoulder. The usually so jubilant boy looked miserable and close to tears. Grantaire couldn't bring himself to drown his guilt and sorrow in the bottle, no matter how awful he felt. Courfeyrac needed him to lean on right now, since Combeferre and Enjolras were both otherwise occupied and he was the only one there apart from Joly. And if keeping Courfeyrac grounded was the least Grantaire could do, then he would do it.

He wished he knew what was going on in the bedroom. Combeferre and Joly had sent him and Courfeyrac out of there as soon as they had forcefully drugged Enjolras with the Laudanum. Grantaire could understand why they had wanted them gone, he knew that they needed their space. But Courfeyrac had fought tooth and nail to stay in the room. Grantaire had to manhandle his friend into the living room, collecting at least three bruises along the way, and once there, he had his arms full with a sobbing Courfeyrac. It had taken him about half an hour to get him to calm down enough so that they could move to the couch. They had been sitting there ever since, with Courfeyrac leaning heavily on Grantaire. Both of their hearts beating too fast and too loud due to the nerves coursing through their bodies.

The joy Grantaire had felt when he saw Enjolras' eyes open only lasted for a couple of seconds. He couldn't even recall the feeling anymore after everything that happened afterwards. He had never seen his leader in a state like this, so vulnerable in the purest definition of the word. The raw pain and confusion that had been visible on Enjolras' face and in his eyes would haunt Grantaire for the rest of his life, of that he was sure. He felt like he had been rudely awoken from a pleasant dream, a dream in which his Apollo was strong, unbreakable. He would have never thought to be witness of this Enjolras. This broken, young man, plagued by unimaginable pain. The image he had of Enjolras, the perfect statue, was showing cracks and Grantaire didn't know if these cracks could ever be smoothed out again.

And he felt so guilty.

Grantaire appreciated the talk he had with Combeferre and he admired the man all the more for it when he told him that no one was to blame for what happened. But he couldn't bring himself to believe it. He couldn't help but think 'what if'. What if he had just done what Enjolras asked him? What if he hadn't followed Enjolras to back to the Café? What if he hadn't forced Enjolras to punch him? What if he had tried to find help instead of deciding to stay with Enjolras? What if. Two terrible words that could make every man go mad. Grantaire brought one hand to his cheek and gently traced the bruise with his finger. He wished Enjolras would have hit him harder. He wished he had been the one to fall through that rotten floor.

"What the hell is taking them so long? I need to know what's happening…"

Courfeyrac's voice brought Grantaire out of his musings and he quickly took hold of his friend's arm to keep him seated next to him. Courfeyrac gave him an angry look, but didn't try to twist out of his hold. His bright, happy eyes were shining with tears and Grantaire suddenly wondered if the light would ever return to those hazel orbs if Enjolras wasn't going to make it.

"I don't know Courf, but they'll let us know when they're ready. They won't keep us in the dark if they can help it. I'm sure of it. Please just stay here… Barging in there might do more bad than good right now."

Courfeyrac narrowed his eyes and gave him an incredulous look. He shook his head a little and fell back against Grantaire's shoulder with a huff. "Since when are even you the logical one?" he muttered quietly, keeping his eyes trained on the bedroom door.

Grantaire laughed humorlessly and rested his head against the Courfeyrac's raven curls. "I don't know, Courfeyrac… Maybe since I desperately needed a drink…"

Courfeyrac didn't laugh. He just closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He still didn't know exactly what had happened and why Enjolras was hurt this badly, but he did know that Grantaire had been with his friend the whole time and he was grateful for that. He didn't want to imagine how things had turned out if Enjolras had been alone. Courfeyrac was sure that they wouldn't be sitting there if that had been the case. Of course he hadn't missed Grantaire's bruised cheek and neither was he blind to the guilt that was practically radiating from his friend, but he refused to believe that whatever had happened was Grantaire's fault. If it had been, then there was no way that Combeferre had let the drunkard sit next to Enjolras' bed.

"This is killing me, Taire…" Courfeyrac said softly, voice wavering. "I'm one of his best friends and I need to be in there with him. What if he dies? He needs me to be there. I deserve it just as much as Combeferre. Just because I don't know him as long as he does, doesn't mean I don't care about him just as much. They can't just send me out. It's not fair." A small sob tore through his throat and he brought his arm up to cover his eyes. "Do you understand, R? Do you understand that they can't do this to me? They send Gavroche to come and get me. He tells me that Enjolras has a wooden splint sticking out of his side and that he's dying. And then I get here and Julien is in so much pain that I can practically feel it and then they send me out again! They can't do that."

Grantaire didn't know what to say, so he just pulled Courfeyrac close and let his friend cry in his arms. He knew how close the three friends were and so he could imagine the pain Courfeyrac was feeling when he was told to go out of the room. But he also knew that Combeferre would never send him out if it wasn't for the best. That wasn't in the man's nature. So he thought it best to just say nothing in response to Courfeyracs ramblings and instead offer his embrace.

They pulled away from each other at the sound of a door opening. In the doorway stood Joly, looking pale and exhausted. He rushed through the living room, collecting his jacket, cane and hat and moved towards the front door where he stopped and turned around to look at Grantaire and Courfeyrac. "He's asleep again," the medical student said quietly, "But his fever is getting worse and he is really weak. I don't know how bad the infection is we're dealing with, but I don't want to take any risks. We need someone more experienced to take a look at him, so I'm going out to find a doctor…"

Courfeyrac was on his feet in seconds, rushing forwards and grabbing Joly by the shoulders. Grantaire was right behind him, his heart in his throat.

"We can go back in then right?" Courfeyrac asked anxiously. "You told us we could when he was asleep or when he had calmed down… You… You know what, I don't even care what you say, I'm going back in there." And before Joly could respond to his friend, Courfeyrac turned on his heels and stormed to the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him. Grantaire stared after his friend for a second and then turned back to Joly, looking at him questioningly. The medical student gave him a half-smile and placed a hand on Grantaire's shoulder, nodding.

"You can go back in, R… But just… I know you and Courf want to be there with him and of course you have every right to be there, but just don't be surprised if you'll have to leave the room again when the doctor arrives… I'm just telling you now…"

Grantaire fell his heart sink a little, hating the fact that he wasn't allowed to stay in the room as long as he wanted, but he forced himself to give Joly a smile. If the doctor would work better with them out of the room then of course Grantaire would go. He'd do anything to make Enjolras feel better. And so when Joly turned and closed the door behind him, Grantaire quietly followed Courfeyrac into the room, hoping that Combeferre had already told their other friend that they couldn't stay there for long.

 

* * *

Combeferre could still see the betrayed look on Courfeyrac's face when the doctor told them they had to leave the room. He knew how much his friend wanted to be here and he agreed with him that he deserved to be here just as much as anyone else. But the doctor wanted everyone out, except for one and since Combeferre wasn't only Enjolras' best friend but a medical student too, he was the one that was allowed to stay behind and help the doctor. But though Combeferre was grateful that he could stay, it hadn't been easy to see his friends go.

He knew that more of the Amis had arrived at Madame Hucheloups house. He could hear Bahorel's booming voice and he was sure he had seen Jehan hugging Grantaire when he gently led Coureyrac out of the room. Combeferre was glad their friends had made it. They were all supposed to be here… Just in case. He knew Joly had probably updated them on Enjolras' condition and he was grateful that he wasn't the one to do that. It wasn't an easy position to be in and apart from that, Combeferre didn't even know if he could get the words out his mouth. He was so nervous, so scared. His best friend's life was hanging by a threat and his whole world was spinning out of control.

He looked up from Enjolras' fragile body when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. The doctor was looking at him sympathetically and Combeferre knew he had to move so that the man could examine his friend. He nodded and stood from his place next to the bed, allowing the doctor access. Joly had already told him what happened and what they had done to treat him, so Combeferre didn't have to do anything more than watch and hand the doctor the things he needed.

"The infection is spreading," the doctor said quietly after a little while, turning to Combeferre with a sad look in his eyes. "You and your friend have done some excellent work here, but this couldn't have been prevented, I'm afraid. I know it's not what you want to hear, but there isn't much more we can do now. It is mostly up to your friend and his strength… There is one thing we can do to help him, though it's a risky procedure… I think you already know what I'm talking about?"

Combeferre heart skipped a beat and he nodded. He knew that was probably what the doctor was going to do – he and Joly had already talked about it – but he didn't like it one bit. "Bloodletting," he whispered shakily.

The doctor nodded and placed the back of his hand against Enjolras' forehead. "I can't guarantee that it will help him in the state he is in, but it is the only thing that we can do right now. Apart from keeping him as comfortable as possible so that he can rest."

"He's lost a lot of blood, doctor," Combeferre said quietly, "I don't know if he can afford to lose any more."

The doctor stood from his seat next to the bed and walked towards his briefcase to collect a small bowl and a knife. "Neither do I… But like I said, it is the only thing I can do right now. It's up to you though, you need to make this decision for him."

Combeferre swallowed and nodded. He knew he was the one who had to decide. Even if Enjolras was awake, his friend was in no state to make this decision himself with the fever and drugs coursing through his body. Combeferre had to decide, but it wasn't an easy job. He feared that no matter what he did, it would be the wrong decision. Joly had told him that if the doctor asked for his permission, he should say yes. His friend was also convinced that bloodletting was the only and last thing they could offer to help Enjolras. Combeferre cleared his throat and carded a hand through his short hair. "Can I… E-Enjolras, he needs to know what you're going to do… I… H-He is drifting in and out of consciousness, I don't want him to wake up without knowing what's going on. It might scare him…"

The doctor smiled at him and inclined his head. "Of course. I prefer to have my patients awake for the bloodletting procedure. It's easier to see how much they can afford to lose. It is painful, though."

Combeferre knew. But he doubted if Enjolras would even feel it apart from the pain that was currently radiating through his body from the injury on his side. He carefully sat down close to his friend on the bed, took hold of his hand and pressed a light kiss on his burning forehead. It didn't take long for his friend to blink his eyes open. Enjolras looked at him, expression confused and hurt, still drugged from the Laudanum he had been given earlier. His blue eyes were swimming with tears and Combeferre had trouble to keep his own eyes dry. He patiently waited for Enjolras to focus on him and then very slowly told him what was going on.

"Sorry to wake you, my friend… But there is a doctor here, see? He's here to help you."

Enjolras' blinked again and then his eyes briefly glanced towards the doctor standing behind Combeferre. When he focused on his friend again, it was clear that Enjolras felt anxious and Combeferre gently squeezed his hand while carding a comforting hand through the sweat soaked curls.

"Don't worry, Julien… You know I would never let anyone hurt you, he's a good man. I promise."

Enjolras' expression didn't change.

"You're suffering from a bad infection, my friend. That's why you're burning up and why you feel so extremely weak. The doctor here is going to try and take the infection away. He's going to try and make you feel better…" Combeferre hesitated for a second, Enjolras looked so vulnerable, so innocent. He hated to scare his friend, but he had to know before they did anything. "Do you remember when Bahorel got really sick? Do you remember what they did to make him feel better?"

Enjolras' eyes grew a little wider and he started shaking his head, a few tears falling from his eyes.

"I know it's scary, Julien, but you want to get better, don't you? This will help you, I promise. And I will be here with you the whole time. I won't leave you alone, not for a second."

Enjolras kept shaking his head. His lips were forming the word 'please' over and over again, though no sound came. Combeferre shifted a little closer to his younger friend and rested his forehead against that of Enjolras, placing his hands on either side of his friend's face.

"I'm not asking, Enjolras," he said apologetically. When he pulled back he could see the disbelief in his friend's eyes and his heart twisted painfully in his chest. He didn't want to betray his friend, but Enjolras wasn't thinking clearly and if this was their only option, then they would do it. "I promise you everything will be fine. I will be here and I'll make sure nothing bad is going to happen. It'll be over before you know it and it will help you. It has to help you..."

Enjolras shook his head again. "Please... No… 'Ferre?" The words were so quiet that Combeferre almost missed them. It was easier to pretend that he did.

Combeferre turned back to the doctor and nodded.

TBC.


	9. Chapter 9

Enjolras swallowed thickly and closed his eyes in quiet desperation. Why wouldn't Combeferre listen to him? He was being clear enough, wasn't he? He did not consent to this. He did not want the doctor to cut up his arm. He didn't believe in it and he was sure it would only do more wrong than good. He opened his eyes again and focused on Combeferre just long enough to see his friend nod to the doctor. A small sound of protest escaped his lips and he curled his arm as close to his body as he could. He might be burning with fever and he might be in unimaginable pain, but he was lucid enough to know what he wanted and what he didn't want.

He felt a gentle hand brush his forehead. A soft voice near his ear. "You will be alright, mon Ami… Try to focus on me and my voice. Can you do that for me?"

Enjolras wanted to shake his head. He wanted to shout. No, no I can't do that for you! But he was too weak and too confused to form any coherent sentences. And so he let out another whispered plea. He tried shaking his head one more time. He prayed for Combeferre to understand that he didn't want to do this. But Combeferre wasn't looking at him. His friend looked down at their entwined hands and ignored Enjolras' desperate glances.

A small gasp left his lips when he felt a hand close around his wrist, pulling his arm out from under the blankets. Enjolras tried to pull it back, he tried to turn away, but it was no use. There wasn't any strength in his body and his muscles refused to cooperate. He watched how his arm was stretched out across a large silver bowl and felt a tear trickle from his eye. When the doctor fished a knife out of his medical kit, Enjolras balled his fist and turned his attention to the older man.

"No, no, please," he murmured weakly, "I don't want this…"

Cold sweat dripped from his back to the mattress and Enjolras desperately tried to twist his arm out of the doctor's grip, but the man was too strong. And Enjolras was too weak. He watched how the doctor placed the cool blade of the knife against his skin and held in his breath. Then his head was turned the other way by a gentle hold of his chin. Enjolras blinked the sweat from his eyes and glanced up at Combeferre. His friend looked down at him, guiltily, eyes full of sympathy and compassion. He squeezed Enjolras' hand.

"Don't watch, Enjolras," he said softly. "Look at me instead. Just try to focus on me, my sound and my touch and block everything else out. It will be over before you know it, I promise."

Enjolras' eyes widened a little and he swallowed thickly. He felt sick with nerves knowing what was about to happen. How could Combeferre expect him to block it all out? That wasn't even possible. He was far too much focused on the cold blade touching his burning skin. He started breathing faster in anticipation and before the doctor had even broken the skin, Enjolras was close to hyperventilating. He didn't like to admit that there were things out there that scared him, but now he really was afraid. He knew they were making a mistake and yet neither the doctor or Combeferre were willing to listen to him. They ignored his pleas and they brushed his displeasure aside, adding it to the many results of having a fever. But fever or not, Enjolras was certain that this was going to end bad. His body was weak, extremely weak. He wasn't a doctor and yet something told him that he could not afford to lose something as vital as blood. Not now. Not after losing so much of it already.

Another small sob escaped his lips. He wished he had the strength to talk. He wished he had the energy and the coherence to let Combeferre know that he really did not want to do this, but he could not put his thoughts into words. Enjolras could see the uncertainty in Combeferre's eyes though. He could see the doubt there and he knew that Combeferre wasn't happy about this procedure either. His best friend had often voiced his displeasure of bloodletting to him. But now Combeferre was desperate. Desperate for Enjolras to get better. He was willing to listen to the more experienced doctors. Willing to do anything as long as it meant that there was a chance that it could make Enjolras better. That desperation was a lot stronger than his doubts were.

Enjolras squeezed Combeferre's hand back and whispered his friend's name. He tried to convince the bespectacled student one final time, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by a sharp gasp, followed by a strangled moan. He clenched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth as the sharp blade sliced through his fore arm. His burning skin was immediately covered by an even warmer liquid that steadily made its way around his arm to trickle into the silver bowl. It made Enjolras feel sick to know that it was his blood that caused the dripping sound.

Enjolras felt his muscles tense and he tightened his hold on Combeferre's hand. He had tried to pull his stretched arm away out of reflex but luckily the doctor had held it in a tight grip. A low whimper escaped his throat and Enjolras desperately tried to turn his attention away from his arm and back to Combeferre. His friend softly pressed their foreheads together and placed one hand on the side of Enjolras' face, brushing the sweaty locks of hair behind his ear. Enjolras tried his best to focus on Combeferre's comforting words. He wanted to do as Combeferre had said and he tried to block everything out except the voice and touch of his friend. But it was so very hard. He forced his eyes open and looked straight into those of Combeferre.

He felt Combeferre squeeze his hand again and realized it was slick with sweat. Everything was slick with sweat. The blankets were soaked with it. It made Enjolras feel even more miserable and he shivered. His arm was beginning to feel numb, his fingers were tingling. He tried to wiggle them, but his muscles weren't cooperating.

"You're doing great, Enjolras. Just hold on a little while longer. It's almost over, I promise."

Combeferre's voice seemed to come from far away, even though he had whispered the words directly into his ear. Enjolras blinked slowly. His vision was starting to blur and he couldn't focus on his best friend's face anymore. He became aware of an insistent ringing in his ears, louder and louder until it completely drowned out Combeferre's voice. The edges around his vision blackened and Enjolras felt himself start to sink into unconsciousness. He felt as if life was literally being drained from him. He opened his mouth again and tried to warn his friend, tried to let him know that it was too much, but he didn't manage anything more than a pained sigh.

Enjolras didn't want to die. He was a fighter, a warrior. He had always thought that if he would die, it would be for his country. It would be in battle. Not like this… He didn't want to give up and he did his very best to stay awake, but he wasn't strong enough. And he knew it was only a matter of time before he'd pass out. And if he passed out, Enjolras was very doubtful that he'd ever wake up again.

With his final bit of strength and out of sheer concentration, he managed to squeeze Combeferre's hand again. He locked eyes with his friend. His lips were moving, forming a word. And finally he was able to whisper. "Stop…"

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everything was quiet in the tiny living room of Madame Hucheloup. The space was packed. All the Amis were there, waiting anxiously for news on their leader. Grantaire, Courfeyrac and Jehan were seated on the sofa. Gavroche had nestled himself on Courfeyrac's lap. Bahorel and Feuilly sat silently at the dinner table and Bossuet had sunk towards the floor cross legged. Joly was the only one pacing the room, walking back and forth, mumbling to himself.

Grantaire's eyes shifted from the bedroom door to his friends and Gavroche and back to the bedroom door. He had no idea what was going on behind it, but something told him it wasn't anything good. He had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something he couldn't quite fathom, but he knew it had something to do with Enjolras. Something was wrong. Grantaire had been surprised when Joly announced that they were going to invite a doctor to examine Enjolras. After everything Joly and Combeferre had done to help Enjolras, Grantaire had forgotten they weren't licensed doctors yet.

His fingers tapped out a steady rhythm on the handrail of the couch. He made sure to keep his eyes open, because every time he closed them, he saw Enjolras writhing on the bed in excruciating pain. He could hear the broken sounds, the icy scream. It was edged in his brain. Tattooed on his body. They had formed scars that would never fade.

"I can't believe this is happening," Feuilly said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Grantaire looked up and shook his head slowly. He couldn't believe it either. He'd been witness to the whole thing, but he still couldn't believe it.

"Why was he back at the Café anyway?" Feuilly continued, "We weren't supposed to be back until later this evening. Enjolras had a job to do, why did he return to the Café?"

Grantaire looked away and swallowed thickly. He and Joly had told them all what had happened. How the ground had shifted because of the rotten wood, how Enjolras had fallen, what they had done to help him. But they didn't know what happened before that. They didn't know about Enjolras checking up on Grantaire. They didn't know about the fight. They didn't know that Enjolras had hit Grantaire and they didn't know what Grantaire had said to Enjolras. No one knew. Only Combeferre. And even though Combeferre wasn't angry with the cynic, he had still advised Grantaire to keep quiet for now. "Fear and anxiety can make people do or say stupid things, Grantaire," he had said. "I know our friends would mean no harm, but I don't want them to unintentionally hurt you or add to your guilt. Keep quiet for now. Talk to Enjolras first. They might not ever need to know."

Grantaire pressed his lips together. If Enjolras would get better and if he and Grantaire could work it out, then yes, maybe no one needed to know. But what if Enjolras died? What if he didn't make it? Would Combeferre still be so understanding if that happened? Would he still be able to call the Amis his friends? Grantaire had no idea what would happen, but he really didn't want to find out. He needed Enjolras to be alright.

"If he hadn't returned, this would never have happened," the freckled man whispered sadly.

Next to him, Grantaire felt Courfeyrac shift a little and he suddenly felt a hand close around his own, squeezing gently. He briefly glanced towards his younger friend. Courfeyrac was watching him, examining him, but his eyes showed nothing but kindness and understanding. When Grantaire averted his eyes, Courfeyrac entwined their fingers and spoke.

"You don't know that Feuilly… The wood would have given way anyway. Maybe it wouldn't have happened to Enjolras, but it might have happened to any one of us. Let's just be thankful that Grantaire and Gavroche were there to help."

Courfeyrac pressed a light kiss to the top of Gavroches head and squeezed Grantaire's hand again. Grantaire's heart twisted painfully in his chest and he felt tears well in his eyes. He had long forsaken his religion, but now he found himself praying to anyone who would listen. God, please let him be alright. Please don't take him away from these people. Don't take him away from me.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Stop…"

The words were barely a whisper, but Combeferre heard them loud and clear. Enjolras had been begging and pleading for them not to do this ever since they told him about the procedure, but somehow this time it was different. The look in his friends eyes was not one of fear or pain. It was one of quiet desperation. A cry for Combeferre to understand. An attempt to communicate with Combeferre non verbally like they had done so many times.

Combeferre narrowed his eyes and looked down at Enjolras. Really looked. His friend was extremely pale, almost translucent. He was covered in sweat and he was clearly shivering. His breathing was far too shallow. The medical student brought a trembling hand to Enjolras' neck and searched for a pulse there. It was weak… A mere flutter. Combeferre swallowed and looked away from his friend. His eyes found the doctor, who hadn't looked at Enjolras once and was only focused on the procedure.

"Stop," Combeferre said. His voice sounded hoarse. "Stop, monsieur, you have to stop."

The doctor looked up at him. He seemed confused and shook his head. "We have only just started. It is not time yet. I know it is difficult my son, but…"

"No!" Combeferre interrupted fiercely, his hand tightening around that of Enjolras, "No, you have to stop now. Look at him! He's barely hanging on. He's lost too much. You have to stop!"

The doctor's eyes shifted from Combeferre to Enjolras and his hand hovered over the cut in his patient's arm. "This might be the only thing that can save him, monsieur Combeferre," he said softly.

"This isn't saving him. This is killing him. I don't consent! I… I don't consent. Stop. He's lost too much blood. Stop, stop, stop…"

The doctor sighed, clearly not agreeing with Combeferre, and pressed a thick cloth against the wound on Enjolras' arm. "As you wish, monsieur…" he said quietly, "I hope you've made the right decision."

Combeferre's heart was beating fast. He watched how the doctor bandaged Enjolras' arm and then focused his attention back on his young friend, who was still struggling to stay conscious. He placed his hands on either side of Enjolras' face and pressed a kiss to his sweaty forehead. A few tears escaped his eyes, but he didn't care. What have I done? What did I do? I've killed him… Combeferre cursed himself. He should have never consent to this. He should have known better. He should have listened to Enjolras.

"Please," he whispered softly, realizing how ironic it was that he was the one begging now, "please, Enjolras.. Please stay with me. It's over. I promise, it's over now. Don't give up… Please my friend, please don't give up… Stay with me."

Enjolras blinked slowly, lazily. Combeferre could see the beginnings of a smile tug at his friend's lips and it was enough to make him crawl into the bed. He cradled Enjolras in his arms, careful of his injuries, and wrapped the sheets around them. He didn't care that everything was drenched in sweat.

When Enjolras let out a quiet whimper, Combeferre's bottom lip started quivering and the full reality of it all slammed into him. The reality of the very likely chance that he was about to lose his best friend, his brother in all but blood. His face crumpled and he cried, burying his face in Enjolras' hair.

"Please don't leave me… Enjolras… Please…?"

TBC.


	10. Chapter 10

Grantaire watched as the doctor, who had just been in Enjolras' room, took Joly by the arm and pulled him aside to talk in private. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but the serious expressions on their faces made him worry for his friend's wellbeing. He narrowed his eyes when he saw Joly duck his head and pull a hand across his tired eyes. Joly looked defeated and that wasn't good. That wasn't good at all.

It had been almost six hours now. Six hours since Grantaire watched Enjolras fall through the ceiling. Six hours of excruciating guilt and confusion. Sorrow and concern. Every time he closed his eyes, he re-lived that moment. Every time he closed his eyes, he could hear the scream, he could feel the blood and he could taste the tears. Grantaire wanted nothing more than to grab each and every bottle in his apartment and those of his friends, but he knew that no amount of drinking could keep him from replaying it over and over and over again in his head.

He wouldn't drink. That was the least thing he could do now. Enjolras hated it. Enjolras hated him. Enjolras was injured because of him. Everything was Grantaire's fault. So Grantaire wouldn't drink. He didn't deserve to drown his guilt. He needed to feel it. Every painful, itching sting of it.

There was no better cause or honorable sacrifice to Enjolras' fall. There was nothing accomplished. It was just an awful accident where he fell ten feet down because of some rotten wood that hadn't been checked out. And that was the worst. Enjolras never did anything without a higher purpose. He especially wouldn't die without a higher goal. He couldn't, wasn't allowed. Enjolras wasn't supposed to be back at the backroom. He wasn't supposed to be disappointed by Grantaire. And he sure as hell wasn't supposed to end this way. He didn't deserve it.

Grantaire glanced to his side where Courfeyrac was sitting. His friend's feet tapped rapidly on the floor, desperate to hear news about his best friend. Courfeyrac wasn't supposed to be desperate, he wasn't the one to despair. But now he did and Grantaire knew it all came back to him fucking up. Always fucking up. His friend's would be better off without him. All he brought was pain and death.

When the doctor entered the living room, Courfeyrac had been the first one to jump up and approach him, but the older man had only wanted to talk to Joly. The younger boy was too confused to respond to the blunt turndown and by the time the doctor's words got through to him, the man was already talking to Joly on the other side of the room. Jehan encouraged him to stay seated and wait for Joly to come and talk to them. Courfeyrac always listened to Jehan.

Grantaire wished he could be more like Jehan. Or like Bossuet. Or like Combeferre. Or like any one of them. As long as he didn't have to be himself.

The door to Enjolras' room was still closed and Grantaire couldn't hear any sounds coming from there. He didn't know what he preferred: hearing the painful whimpers or not hearing anything at all. The silence scared him. He had absolutely no idea how his friend was doing, and the uncertainty was ripping him apart.

He wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers and blew out a deep sigh. How could this be happening? How could any of this be real? He couldn't wrap his head around it. Even though he saw it happen and even though he kept replaying the fall over and over again in his head, Grantaire couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Enjolras might be dying. Because their passionate leader wasn't supposed to be still and pale in a bed. He wasn't supposed to be hurt. He had so much more important things to do. There was too much that needed changing, too much that had to be fought. And Enjolras needed to do those things, because if Enjolras didn't do them then who would?

The Amis?

Grantaire was certain they would continue Enjolras' work, but it wouldn't be the same. _They_ wouldn't be the same. They would have lost their fire, their passion, their light. How could Combeferre give out orders when he could no longer chastise Enjolras for forgetting to eat? How could Courfeyrac recruit new members when his enthusiastic nature died along with Enjolras? How could Feuilly trust in his skills and his worth when Enjolras was no longer there praising him each and every day? How could Jehan write about love when someone so close to him was crudely ripped away?

And how could Grantaire possibly keep on living when he lost his solemn reason to breath?

A soft tap on his shoulder pulled the cynical man out of his ponderings. He didn't realize he had started to cry until Jehan took his face in his hands and brushed the tears away with his fingers. The youngest member of their group smiled at him, kissed his forehead. He whispered words that were supposed to comfort Grantaire, but how could they? Grantaire couldn't be comforted, not by anyone. He was the reason Enjolras was in this situation in the first place. He didn't deserve to be comforted.

He was too weak to resist when Jehan gathered him in his arms. He was too weak to tell them this was all his fault. He was too weak to keep himself from breaking down into sobs.

And as he buried his head in the crook of Jehan's neck, he was too weak to hate himself even more.  
  


* * *

 

Combeferre tried his best to concentrate on his friend's shallow breathing, because at least he was still breathing. Enjolras was still holding on, was still fighting, despite the deadly color of his skin and the fluttering of his pulse.

He shifted on the bed and pressed his best friend a little closer to him, all the while keeping a strong hold on his shoulders so he wouldn't jostle the blonde too much. A small sob ripped through his throat and fresh, hot tears ran down his face. The guilt for allowing the doctor to draw blood weighed heavily on Combeferre's shoulders as he leaned in and tried to apologize, to explain, to comfort. But words were failing him and all he could do was cry.

Enjolras had trusted him. He had relied on him and he had trusted Combeferre to make the right decision on his behalf. And Combeferre didn't see it. He didn't listen. He not only went against Enjolras' will, but against his own as well, because he knew bloodletting wasn't the answer. He _knew_ , but he had been so desperate to help his friend that he'd started doubting his own intelligence. And that of Enjolras. He fucked up, he made everything worse, and now Enjolras had to pay the price.

Combeferre couldn't help it when images of a dark coffin and mourning people flashed before his eyes. He couldn't help it when he heard Enjolras' mother cry out his name. He couldn't help it when he felt the hole in his heart grow, swallowing him. He couldn't help it when his mind was already planning out a funeral. And he hated himself for it.

A twitch in his hand brought Combeferre's attention back to the young man in his arms. Enjolras' lips were moving, as if he was trying to speak, but he didn't make any sound. His eyes moved rapidly behind their lids and a small frown decorated his brow. Small whimpering noises that sounded like they were intended to be screams echoed in Combeferre's ears and it broke his heart. He squeezed Enjolras' sweat slicked hand and called his friend's name, pleading for him to open his eyes, to wake up, so that he could tell him that he was sorry and that everything was going to be alright. When nothing happened, Combeferre's pleads grew more distressed and more tears built in his eyes.

"Enjolras, please… Please wake up? I'm sorry… I didn't listen, I didn't know… Please, wake up."

But it didn't matter. Enjolras' movements slowed down again and soon enough, he was completely still, the fluttering pulse the only proof that he was still alive. That he was still breathing.

Combeferre gathered both Enjolras' hands in his own and pressed his lips against their intertwined fingers. He still couldn't believe this was happening. Had it really only been six hours since Enjolras sent them all in different directions to find recruitments? Had it really only been eight hours since he and Enjolras sat down for breakfast together? Since Combeferre pressed his friend's hand to tell him this was going to be a good day?

"I can't lose you… None of us can, Enjolras… Please, wake up, be okay? I'm sorry…"

"Combeferre?"

Combeferre turned around on the bed and saw that Joly had entered the room. He hadn't even heard the door open, too far lost in his own mind. He wiped the tears from his eyes and pushed himself up from the bed to sit back down in the wooden chair. When he looked back at Joly, his friend wore a worried expression, but offered him a small, sympathetic smile nonetheless.

"The doctor told me you told him to stop the procedure?"

Joly approached the bed and sat down in the other chair, opposite from Combeferre. His smile faltered when he looked at Enjolras and he had to take a deep breath to calm his fast beating heart. Reaching out his hand, Joly briefly brushed his fingers against Enjolras' forehead. Both checking for a fever and bringing some form of comfort to his heart to feel that the skin was still burning hot, not deadly cold.

"I couldn't Joly…, I'm sorry, but I couldn't. You weren't here, you didn't see what happened. Enjolras didn't want it.. God, what were we even thinking? You and I both don't believe in bloodletting! How could we do this? After he had lost so much blood already? How could we be so stupid? We only made it worse. I made it worse!"

Joly silenced him with a small shake of his head. He didn't know what to say himself. Part of him agreed with Combeferre's decision to cut the procedure short. God knew that the last thing Enjolras needed was losing more of his blood. But another part of him worried that despite the risks, this might have been their only chance to save Enjolras' life. Neither him nor Combeferre were licensed doctors yet, they were only students. Surely, someone as specialized as the doctor who had just visited them knew better.

"I understand 'Ferre," Joly muttered quietly, dipping one of the old cloths in the basket of water and placing it back in Enjolras' neck. "I probably would've done the same had I been here. I just… I just hope…" _I just hope you made the right decision_ , he thought, but didn't say.

Combeferre understood just as well, though, but shook his head. He knew he had made the right decision by stopping the doctor. He was certain of it. He should've never consented to it in the first place.

Joly smiled that same smile again and placed another cloth across Enjolras' forehead. Their friend was still sweating, which was a good thing. It meant his system was still fighting the fever, he wasn't dehydrated yet. The lack of response from the blonde, however, when the cold fabric touched his burning skin, worried Joly greatly. They did the same thing less than two hours ago and Enjolras had been fighting tooth and nail at that moment. Now he didn't even flinch.

His condition was deteriorating fast.

"What do we do now?" Combeferre whispered weakly after a few minutes of silence. He had watched Joly's tender ministrations with soft eyes, but now turned back to look at Enjolras and he squeezed the hand in his own, hoping for a response. It still amazed him how much younger his friend always looked when he was sick, unconscious or simply asleep. When the deep lines of concern and fight were smoothed out, he barely looked like an adult.

It reminded Combeferre of simpler times. Of years ago when he was a teenager and Enjolras was just a child. Things hadn't always been easy back then – not at all – but they were much simpler. The hardest thing Combeferre had to deal with was an Enjolras who was hurt by his father's words or by a sprained ankle. Nothing an ice corn or a walk through the fields couldn't solve. Sometimes Combeferre wished he could still go back to that time. When Enjolras didn't carry the weight of the world on his shoulders yet, when Combeferre didn't feel like he had to watch his friend's every move to see if they hadn't arrested him yet.

"We wait," Joly answered just as quietly, bringing Combeferre back to the present. "That's all we can do, 'Ferre… Wait and see. He has to fight his way back himself…or he'll die trying."

"I have to do something," Combeferre snapped, another few tears spilling from his eyes as he brushed back a few stray curls from Enjolras' forehead. "I can't sit around and do nothing, Joly. I need to do something, I refuse to just sit around and wait for him to die… I can't."

Joly shook his head and reached over the bed to take one of Combeferre's hands. "Do what you always do, Combeferre. Just be there for him. That's all you can do right now. Be there for him, hold his hand, keep him close. Talk to him, comfort him… If anything is going to help him now, it will be that bond between the two of you. I'm sure of it." _And if that fails, then at least he'll die knowing he was never alone_.

Combeferre bit his bottom lip and ducked his head. Though Joly didn't speak those last words, he still heard them and he knew Joly was right. There was nothing more they could do than sit with him, hold his hand and keep him as comfortable as possible. Combeferre knew it shouldn't make him so angry, but he couldn't help it. He felt absolutely useless looking at the pale color of Enjolras' skin. Though his mind was already planning a funeral, his heart refused to accept this was their end. It couldn't be.

"Ferre…" Joly said softly, squeezing his friend's hand to get his attention. "Everyone is here… in the other room. They want to see Enjolras… Courfeyrac is going crazy. I don't think I can keep him back any longer…"

"You shouldn't have kept him back at all, Joly. He needs to be here too! He was supposed to be here all along, because at least he wouldn't have let the doctor cut his skin. He would've understood it wasn't what Enjolras wanted." Combeferre's shoulders were shaking again as he desperately tried to keep back the sobs.

He muttered a soft apology, realizing it wasn't fair of him to lash out to Joly that way, but his friend only shook his head and smiled again.

"I… uh… I want Courf in here. For his benefit, but for my own as well, I need him," Combeferre whispered after a few deep breaths to calm himself down. "And Enjolras needs him too.."

"And the others?" Joly asked quietly. He didn't want to push Combeferre when he was already so dangerously close to breaking. When it came to Enjolras, the other medical student could get very protective, some would say obsessively so, even though most knew Combeferre had his reasons to be. But everyone also knew that Combeferre was the one who knew Enjolras best and Combeferre was the one in charge when Enjolras was not able to perform. He made the decisions.

"They need to see him too," Combeferre said, "Enjolras wouldn't want me to keep them away, not when he's… B-but you know as well as I do that we can't have too many people in here Joly. It's too crowded and it's not hygienic. We can't risk him catching anything else, not even a minor cold. He can't battle anything more on top of the war he's already fighting."

Joly agreed. "So we'll just let them in for a couple of minutes and then we leave you and Courf alone with him?" The heavy _to say goodbye_ hung in the air and Joly had to swallow the sudden lump in his throat.

Combeferre knew that was what it meant too. He knew that if their friends would come back in now, it might very well be the last time they'd see their leader alive. The realization knocked the air out of his lungs and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

"Yes… Yes, we'll do that," he heard himself wheeze, allowing the tears to flow again when Joly stood to gather the rest of the Amis. Then he leaned forward until his forehead was touching Enjolras'.

TBC.

_(Hope you liked the chapter! Please let me know and review? Thanks!)_


	11. Chapter 11

_(Hi guys! Thanks you all for your support and patience. I've finally managed to get another chapter up. It was really difficult, I suffered from terrible writer's block for this story, but I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. I know it's probably not my best, but I tried. I promise not to leave you hanging this long again)_

* * *

Courfeyrac choked down a sob as he closed the door behind their worried group of friends. He hated to shut them out now that Enjolras was so close to dying. He knew they wanted nothing more than to stay there, take watch. Especially Grantaire, who looked like he might collapse at any second. It didn't seem fair to tell them to leave and Courfeyrac wondered if it was what Enjolras would've wanted. The look of sheer anguish in Jehan's eyes hurt Courfeyrac's heart.

However, Combeferre and Joly were right. Enjolras was extremely ill and even though they were almost certain their friend wouldn't make it through the night, they couldn't take the risk of exposing Enjolras to any other virus or bacterium or whatever small ailment one of them might carry. As long as there was still a tiny bit of hope, Enjolras needed as much peace and isolation as possible. If they were honest, it would be best if Combeferre and Courfeyrac left the room as well, but they would never forgive themselves if Enjolras died alone. And since they were Enjolras' closest friends, they stayed behind to keep watch.

„It doesn't feel right to send them away," Courfeyrac mumbled as he took his seat on the left side of Enjolras' bed. He looked down at his friend for a second and then back to Combeferre. It was painful for him to look at Enjolras; to see his strong friend so fragile and broken. Tears filled his eyes once more and he didn't do anything to keep them back. His best friend might be dying, he was entitled to shed as many tears as he wanted.

Combeferre met Courfeyrac's eyes and shook his head. He too hated to see his friends so desperate and he wished he could keep them close. But he knew that as long as there was even the slightest bit of hope for Enjolras' survival, they needed to do everything in their power to keep him safe. And it just wasn't sanitary to keep so many people in such a tiny, warm space as Madame Hucheloup's spare bedroom.

„I know it doesn't Courf," Combeferre said quietly. „But it's for the best… The most important thing is that they…" He had to stop and swallow before he could finish his sentence. „That they were able to say goodbye. They'll stay right outside so if anything changes, they'll be the first to know."

Courfeyrac shook his head and looked down at his feet. There were so many emotions bubbling right underneath the surface that it made him feel sick. He could hardly believe that only twelve hours ago, Enjolras had been fine. Twelve hours ago, Courfeyrac had been listening to his friend's speech, had been mesmerized by his words. Now, he couldn't even remember them. All he heard were the miserable moans that Enjolras hadn't been able to hold back.

„There is still hope," Combeferre added in a small voice, as if he didn't really believe it himself. „We need to hold on to that for as long as we can. He's still fighting. We can't give up on him just yet."

That was the moment that Courfeyrac could no longer keep his emotions inside. He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. Heavy, ugly sobs that seemed to come from deep in his core, shook his frame.

Combeferre was with him in seconds and held him close while Courfeyrac all but clung to him. He wanted to sooth his friend, wished he could tell him everything was going to be alright, but he couldn't. His throat felt constricted and he feared that if he tried to talk, nothing more than a raspy squeak would come out. Besides, it wasn't as if Courfeyrac was going to believe him… He hardly believed it himself.

And so, Combeferre held on to his friend for as long as he needed, meanwhile keeping a close watch on Enjolras, praying he'd wake up or show any sign of consciousness.

„I can't lose him‚ Ferre," Courfeyrac whispered, as a shiver ran down his spine. He tried to stifle his sobs and bit his lip so hard it drew blood. He didn't even notice. „We can't lose him… Not like this. Not this way, it's not fair. It's not how this is supposed to end. It can't be…"

Combeferre's eyebrows were locked together in a miserable frown and he swallowed around the lump in his throat. With a slightly trembling hand, he reached out and wiped the blood away. And still, his throat was too constricted to speak and so he pressed his lips to Courfeyrac's forehead. A lone tear of his own dribbled down his cheek. Combeferre was at a loss for words, he didn't know how to comfort his friend. He didn't even know how to comfort himself.

They sat like that for a long while. It seemed like Courfeyrac's tears knew no end, they just kept coming. And though Combeferre ached to go back to his seat next to Enjolras, to hold his hand and monitor his pulse, he couldn't find it in his heart to let go of the broken man in his arms. He let his chin rest on top of Courfeyrac's brown curls and watched the shallow motion of Enjolras' chest.  _He was still breathing._

It was only after twenty long minutes that Courfeyrac pulled back and wiped his tears away. His eyes were swollen and red and his bottom lip still trembled, but he forced himself to regain his composure.

„What do we do?" Courfeyrac mumbled, wiping his nose with his handkerchief. He watched Combeferre move back to his original spot and bit his lip when his friend grabbed Enjolras hand again.

Combeferre opened his mouth, but closed it again and shrugged his shoulders. His gaze fixed on Enjolras once more. „I don't know," he admitted after a minute of silence. „We just… wait… I guess. There's not much more we can do."

Courfeyrac blinked, not knowing what else to say. Combeferre was always the one who knew what to do. If he didn't know now, what hope was there for Courfeyrac to lean on? He, too, fixed his gaze back on Enjolras. Even unconscious, his friend didn't look at peace. Courfeyrac took Enjolras' other hand in his own and tried to comfort himself by squeezing it tight and kissing the knuckles. He tried to relish in the fact that he could offer his love freely. Though he loved his friends dearly, Enjolras often shied away from physical contact. It was only in situations where he felt sick or vulnerable, that he allowed his friends to be affectionate with him. Indeed, on moments like that, he craved it. And Courfeyrac was certain that – had Enjolras been conscious – this would have been one of those moments. And so he gathered his friend's hand in his own and held on for dear life, hoping that somewhere deep down, Enjolras knew he wasn't alone.

Combeferre had just as tight a hold on Enjolras' hand as Courfeyrac had, but not just because he needed Enjolras to know that they were there with him. Combeferre needed the contact just as much, if not more so. Because as long as he could feel the beating of Enjolras' pulse, he knew he still had his best friend. As long as Enjolras was holding on, Combeferre wouldn't allow himself to fall apart. He had to keep it all together. He  _had_ to be strong. Courfeyrac needed him to be strong. Enjolras needed him to be strong, but most of all he needed himself to be strong. Because if he allowed those feelings of despair to enter his heart, he didn't know if he could get ever get himself together again.

"Do you think he can hear us if we speak to him?" Courfeyrac whispered after a long period of silence. He didn't look up and for a moment Combeferre thought he had imagined it. But then came the clearing of a throat and a repeat of the sentence – a little louder that time.

Combeferre didn't know. He hoped Enjolras could hear. Their friends had said such beautiful things about him and Courfeyrac had spent the last hour whispering encouraging words in Enjolras' ears. It would be wonderful if he had heard it all, but Combeferre didn't know. Doctors had told him many stories about people in a coma who later claimed they had heard everything said around them. But there were also many stories in which that was not the case.

"I don't know, Courf," Combeferre admitted and he felt useless once more. He wished he could reassure his friend at least a little. "I hope so… I think it's definitely worth trying."

"I just hope he knows he's not alone…," Courfeyrac said quietly.

Combeferre sighed and reached across Enjolras to take hold of Courfeyrac's hand. He squeezed it briefly and offered his friend a small smile. "He knows… He's only been unconscious for a couple of hours now. I talked to him just before the doctor came. He knows everyone is here. He knows you are here."

Courfeyrac gave a sharp nod and pressed his lips together in a thin line. Combeferre noticed how tired his friend looked. Adrenaline, concern and desperation had worn his body down. The medical student knew he wasn't faring any better. But he didn't care about that. He squeezed Courfeyrac's hand once more to get his attention.

"Why don't you try to get some sleep? If only for a half an hour… I promise I'll wake you the second something changes."

Courfeyrac huffed out a breath and shook his head. "No," he breathed. And that was all he said. Combeferre didn't push.

It was almost just as hard to watch Courfeyrac crumble in front of him as it was to watch Enjolras fight for his life. Combeferre could count the times he had seen Courfeyrac in distress on one hand. The miserable look in his eyes wasn't one the medical student was used to see and he wished there was something he could do to make his eyes sparkle again. Sadness didn't suit Courfeyrac. Combeferre had known the two men for a long time and the three of them had grown incredibly close. It was impossible to imagine a life without any of them and Combeferre knew Courfeyrac was terrified of losing the light of their little trio. Of course, Combeferre was scared as well, but he refused to let those feelings in just yet. He couldn't afford it.

Time passed slowly and neither man spoke. Courfeyrac was far too nervous to think of anything else to say and Combeferre was occupied concentrating on Enjolras' pulse, breathing and temperature. There wasn't much to say and the silence between them wasn't tense or uncomfortable but serene and understanding. They knew each other better than they knew themselves and words weren't always necessary to understand what the other needed.

Though Courfeyrac had been slightly indignant when Combeferre suggested he should sleep, he now found himself doze off every few minutes before waking up with a start. He knew Combeferre had noticed, but he was grateful that his friend didn't mention it again. After two hours or so, Courfeyrac lost the fight against sleep completely and slumped forward on Enjolras' bed. His head rested on his friend's uninjured thigh and their hands were still clasped together. Combeferre's lips curled into a small smile. He knew Courfeyrac would fall asleep eventually but he had to admit that his friend held out longer than he expected.

His own hand tightened around Enjolras' wrist, once again searching for his friend's pulse. He leaned in a little closer and pressed his lips against his friend's forehead. The fever was still there, burning away the passion and life that was Enjolras. Combeferre sighed and grabbed another cloth. He dipped it into the cold water and dabbed it around his friend's neck and cheeks. His hand shook a little, but he ignored it.

They were now halfway through the night and Enjolras was still holding on. Combeferre was incredibly grateful that he still had not have to say goodbye. But at same time, it became more and more important for him to keep a constant hold on his friend's wrist. The fever hadn't broken or lowered and so Enjolras' chances for survival were just as slim as they were before they went into the night. That meant that they were still playing a waiting game and it killed Combeferre. The longer Enjolras held on, the more terrified Combeferre became of the moment when he couldn't feel his friend's pulse any more.

A soft snore stole his attention and Combeferre looked over at Courfeyrac with a slightly amused frown. He was glad sleep had found his friend, even though it didn't seem too peaceful. His friend's eyes moved rapidly behind their lids and Combeferre recognized the beginning of a bad dream. He'd slept in the same bed as Courfeyrac many times and he knew exactly how his friend reacted to nightmares. Combeferre didn't wake his friend up though. Not yet. He'd rather have Courfeyrac sleep a little longer if possible, but he promised himself to intervene before things could get too bad.

His eyes remained fixed on Courfeyrac for a while, searching his friend's face for the moment to step in. It was only when he felt a small twitch in his hand that his gaze flashed back to Enjolras. There didn't seem to be any change in his friend's features and Combeferre wondered if he had imagined the movement. But just when he was about to focus his attention back on Courfeyrac, he felt it again. In one swift motion, he leaned forward and cupped Enjolras' face in own hand, while the other moved from his wrist to Enjolras' hand to squeeze it tight.

"Enjolras?" he said softly, speaking directly in his friend's ear. "Enjolras, can you hear me?"

At first, there was no response, but after a few minutes of encouraging words, Enjolras' head fell to the side and his eyes opened to slits. The younger man stared ahead and tried to blink the fever and sleep away. It took another while for Combeferre to get Enjolras' attention, but when his friend's gaze finally focused on him, he could've cried tears of happiness. He'd been so afraid to never see those blue eyes again.

"Hey," Combeferre whispered through a watery smile.

Enjolras blinked slowly and swallowed, his mind steadily becoming aware of the pain his body was in. He opened his mouth and though his lips formed the word, Enjolras wasn't able to produce sound. Luckily, Combeferre knew his friend well enough to know exactly what word it was that Enjolras was trying to say. ' _Ferre'_.

"I'm here," Combeferre answered, squeezing Enjolras' hand to emphasize his words.

He felt Enjolras try to squeeze back and let out a soft sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "I'm right here," he said again.

Enjolras watched him with a look that Combeferre couldn't quite place. It was something close to admiration and love, but also sorrow and regret. The medical student didn't like it and he suddenly wished to look away. But then Enjolras blinked again and let his eyes glide over his own body, the rest of the room and finally Courfeyrac. Combeferre swore he could see the beginnings of a smile tug at Enjolras' lips and had his friend not been in so much pain, Combeferre was sure he would've finished it. He wanted to reach out and wake his friend, but was stopped by Enjolras' weak voice.

"He cried."

It wasn't a question and Enjolras spoke so very softly that Combeferre had almost missed it. He carded his hand through the greasy blonde locks until Enjolras' gaze was once again on him.

"Yes," Combeferre answered.

"You too?" This time it was a question and Combeferre felt the need to offer Enjolras a reassuring smile.

"Yes," he admitted softly. "But I'm really happy to see you awake."

Enjolras frowned and for a moment he looked confused. As if he had no idea he'd been unconscious for a very long time. Then he gasped quietly and squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of unforgiving pain washed over him. Where Enjolras failed in squeezing Combeferre's hand before, he now clung to it for dear life and the medical student was amazed by the strength still left in Enjolras' frail body.

"Hurts," Enjolras breathed after a moment, eyes still closed and jaw clenched.

Combeferre nodded, and leaned forward again to kiss Enjolras' forehead. "I know it hurts… I'm sorry Enjolras, I wish I could take it away. Try to breathe through it. I'm right here."

It was at that moment that Courfeyrac woke up. His hand was still holding that of Enjolras' and Enjolras had tried to clench both his hands into fists. Courfeyrac bolted upright with eyes wide and fresh tears in his eyes. He opened his mouth to call Enjolras' name, but immediately recognized the pain his friend was in. Instead he brought Enjolras' hand to his mouth and kissed his friend's knuckles.

"We're both here," he said, eyes meeting those of Combeferre, who smiled briefly and nodded encouragingly. "We're both here, E… Just… Breathe through it and squeeze our hands as hard as you want. You're alright… you'll be alright."

Enjolras had his lips pressed tightly together but couldn't hold back a small sob when the pain got too much. His whole body was trembling from fever and exertion. He felt like he was on fire, the pain searing from his wounds to the rest of his body, crawling excruciatingly slow over every inch of his skin. When it finally ebbed away to a throbbing ache, Enjolras was left sweating and shaking like a leaf. He didn't see the worried faces of his friends, choosing instead to keep his eyes closed and block out the flickering lights of the candles.

"'M'I dying?" he whispered after a few minutes of silence. His eyes felt like they were glued together but he managed to pry them open again. This time, he didn't miss the broken look between Combeferre and Courfeyrac. He focused his gaze on his oldest friend and repeated the question.

Combeferre, who had forced his own tears back for hours now, felt the dam was close to breaking. His chin trembled uncontrollably and no matter how hard he bit his bottom lip, he couldn't stop it from quivering. Instead, he chose to duck his head and squeeze his eyes shut. When he looked back up, both Enjolras and Courfeyrac were watching him closely. Courfeyrac's own eyes were filled with tears of his own.

Combeferre forced his mouth to form a smile. "You're not well," he said, voice breaking a little.

That's when Courfeyrac choked on a sob of his own. "You're going to be alright, E," Courfeyrac said again. "You'll be alright, you must be. You just need to keep fighting." Tears spilled from his eyes and he shook his head furiously in a desperate attempt to stop them from falling. "Promise me you'll keep fighting?" he begged Enjolras quietly.

Enjolras' own eyes watered a little, but he didn't cry. With all the strength he could muster, he pulled at Courfeyrac's hand.

Courfeyrac knew what it was that Enjolras wanted and he gave Combeferre a questioning look. When his older friend nodded, Courfeyrac carefully crawled on the mattress and lied down on his side next to Enjolras. He made sure not to jostle the bed and he positioned himself in such a way that he didn't hurt any of Enjolras' injuries.

Enjolras managed a small smile when Courfeyrac lay next to him on the bed and squeezed his friend's hand in a silent thank you. Then his eyes focused on Combeferre and he raised his eyebrows a little. When his friend didn't respond, he repeated his action and pulled on his best friend's hand.

"I can't Enjolras…" Combeferre sighed regrettably. "I don't want to hurt you… It's too dangerous."

"I don't care," Enjolras replied in as firm a voice as he could manage. "Please," he added after a moment of silence, knowing his friend couldn't deny him this request once he added a plea to it.

Combeferre swallowed, eyes gliding from Enjolras to Courfeyrac and back to Enjolras again. Then, very carefully, he stood from his chair and sat down on the mattress. With the utmost care in the world, he sank down on the bed and helped Enjolras to lean against his chest. Once he was sure that Enjolras' injuries were safe and his friend was lying as comfortable as possible, he allowed his muscles to relax.

"Is this okay?" Combeferre asked quietly, needing to know that he and Courfeyrac weren't causing Enjolras more pain than he was already in. "We aren't hurting you?"

Enjolras rested his head against Combeferre's chest – soothed by the solid beating he found there – and shook his head. "Please stay like this. Just like this."

And with that, Enjolras lost the fight against consciousness and sleep claimed him once more.

TBC.

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_Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it and please leave a review if you can!_


	12. Chapter 12

_Hey guys. This is so long overdue… I’m so sorry. I don’t know if there are even people still reading this, but if you do then I hope you like this next chapter. I think I’ve found my muse again. I’ll do my very best not to keep you all hanging this time. Happy reading!_

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It was quiet. Quiet and peaceful. That was the first thing Enjolras became aware of when he opened his eyes. The sky above greeted him cheerfully. Heavenly blue. The bright sun warming his skin.

_Where am I?_

Enjolras couldn’t remember how he got where he was. The last thing he remembered was pain. Pain, fear and desperation. Here – wherever here was – he didn’t’ feel any of those things. He felt at peace. He was comfortable and his mind was empty. No burdens, nothing to worry about, no sorrow.

_But where am I?_

Slowly, Enjolras pushed himself up and looked around. This was weird. He stood on top of a barricade and a large one at that. The stacked-up furniture spread as far as the eye could see. On one side of the manmade wall, the city of Paris lay before him. Looking just as peacefully as Enjolras felt himself. There were no people, but somehow Enjolras knew he was looking at the future. Not just the future, but the future he envisioned. What lay before him was the Paris that he was dreaming of. The Paris that he fought for. He could feel it. Watching the clear blue sky and the sunlight houses, Enjolras noticed how he was drawn to it. He wanted to go there, he wanted to see. He wanted to experience how the world, that he was striving for, felt.

But before he could take a step in that direction, something pulled at his sleeve. Enjolras jumped and looked down to see what he had been sure wasn’t there before. A child. Or at least, he thought it was a child. The little girl had a wisdom in her eyes, however. A wisdom that made her seem older than time itself. It made Enjolras feel slightly uncomfortable.

“Have you looked the other way?” The child asked without looking at him. She turned around, facing the other side of the barricade.

No, Enjolras had not looked the other way. When he woke up on top of the barricade, the bright sunlight side was the first thing he saw. And his desire to go there was so great it hadn’t even occurred to him that something else may lay behind.

Slowly, Enjolras turned around as well and followed the girls gaze. On the other side of the barricade lay the complete opposite of the side he was so drawn to. There before him was a Paris in darkness. A Paris covered by threatening clouds. Houses were ruined and the streets were filled with filth and bodies. In the distance, he could hear a beating drum. Steady, but ominous. Before him lay a Paris in despair. The Paris he was still fighting for. The Paris of his nightmares.

“You have a choice to make”, the child said. She looked at him now, eyes sparkling. “Which way will you go?”

Enjolras frowned. He looked away from the child and focused his gaze on the dark side of the barricade once more. He didn’t want to go there. He was afraid to go there. There was only pain and suffering. And the people of Paris had suffered enough. It was time to choose the bright side of Paris. A free Paris. A Paris were men and women, the rich and the poor, were equals. That Paris existed. He could see it and he could feel it. It was right there, beyond the barricade.

But then, why was it that the dark side of the barricade called out to him that much? What was that distant drum? Was it meant for him? Did it call him? Did it mean his work wasn’t done?

“I want to go that way,” Enjolras said, facing a sunlit Paris. But there was doubt in his voice and indecision in his heart.

“You are free to make the choice you so desire. But know this: once you choose a side you cannot turn back. _Choose wisely._ ”

The child looked into Enjolras’ eyes, not blinking. And Enjolras felt like she was looking directly into his soul, searching for something. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. And yet, it wasn’t unpleasant either. There was no evil in this girl, of that he was sure. But there was judgement and knowledge.

“I want to choose this side,” Enjolras repeated, still facing the sunlit side of the barricade. “My heart desires it. But something calls out to me. Tell me, what is that drum I hear? Who is it meant for? I don’t understand where I am or what this decision means. It feels as if I’m dreaming. If I am dreaming, why shan’t I choose the side I fight to see every day?”

“It is not a dream,” was all that the child said.

Enjolras turned to her. “But what does this mean? Where am I? What is that drum I hear?”

“I am only here to tell you to choose a side and choose it wisely. I cannot tell you more.”

“Why not?” Enjolras said. “I don’t know what to choose.”

“What does your heart tell you?”

 _What does my heart tell me?_ Enjolras didn’t know. His mind desired freedom, justice and light. His mind wished it could go to that bright side of Paris. And yet. There was something holding him back. Something told him that it wasn’t his time to choose the light. He felt obliged to turn back to the dark side. To fight another day. To bring this dark side of Paris into the light. It was the constant beating of that drum. That drum that filled his heart with security and love. It called out to him. Beckoned him. Enjolras squeezed his eyes into splits and peered into the distance, hoping he’d find something there that held the answer. But there was nothing. Only darkness.

“My mind tells me to choose the light, it longs for peace and rest.” Enjolras admitted finally. He sighed and looked back at the child. “But my heart tells me it’s the wrong decision. It tells me I’m needed there.”

“And would you rather listen to your heart or your mind?”

Enjolras huffed. “That’s the dilemma we all face, don’t we? Which of the two is right? Are they both right in their own way? I wish they’d tell me the same thing, but they never seem to do so. Whenever I feel very strongly about something in my heart, my mind tells me no. But when my mind is certain I’m doing the right thing, there’s doubt in my heart. It’s frustrating.”

The child didn’t respond to that. She just stared into the distance.

Enjolras felt a bit annoyed. He didn’t know where he was or what this all meant. But something told him that this child was supposed to be helping him. She was there for a reason, wasn’t she? Then why didn’t she give him anything to work with? _Choose wisely. What does your heart tell you?_

“You can’t give me anything else?” Enjolras asked. He was careful not to show his annoyance. Somehow he figured this girl wouldn’t tolerate criticism. And Enjolras wasn’t sure he’d want to experience her wrath.

The girl turned back to him, eyes sparkling with something Enjolras couldn’t quite fathom.

“I have given you what I can,” said the girl. “I cannot tell you what decision to make. This needs to be your choice and your choice alone.”

Enjolras wanted to say more but he bit his tongue. The girl was right. This was his decision to make. Even though he didn’t know what that decision meant in the first place. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to sense which path to choose. _What does your heart tell you? Would you rather listen to your heart or your mind? Choose wisely._

Finally, when Enjolras opened his eyes, he had made his decision. He was usually more inclined to listen to his mind. He was the kind of person to think things through and base his decision on measured arguments and logic. But there was nothing logic about this situation. There was nothing he knew about this. How could he make a decision based on what his mind told him when his mind didn’t understand what was going on?

“I will go this way,” Enjolras said, one foot already at the darker side of the barricade. He turned back to look at the girl, but when he looked behind him, there was nothing there. The girl had disappeared and so had the brighter side of the barricade. Behind him lay the same darkness that was spread out before him.

So it was clear then. He’d made his decision. And now there was no turning back. He would go down the path his heart had chosen.

As he walked further and further down the barricade, Enjolras started to feel different. That peaceful feeling he had on the top, had almost completely disappeared. Now he felt fear and despair. He was also aware of a strange throbbing feeling in his side that didn’t quite hurt yet, but definitely held potential. For a moment Enjolras feared he had made the wrong decision, but it wasn’t in his nature to linger on such things. He’d made his decision and now he had to follow through.

He reached the bottom of the barricade and started walking. With each step he took, he breathed heavier. It was almost as if there was not enough air for him to breathe. Like he was being pressed down by a tremendous weight resting on his shoulders. Without realizing it, he walked with one arm wrapped around his abdomen. The pain in his side got worse the further away from the barricade he got. At the same time, the drum seemed to get louder and louder. By now he could clearly tell it’s rhythm. It was like a heartbeat. Constant and solid. Comforting.

Enjolras looked behind him, curious to see how much distance there was between him and the barricade. But what he saw shocked him. There was no barricade. Behind him was only more darkness and dirt.

_Where am I?_

He was frightened. Enjolras had no idea where he was going. Did the path he took even lead to a destination? Was he following the drum? Or was he walking blindly?

_I can’t turn back._

As if things couldn’t get worse, it started to rain. No, not raining. It was pouring. Enjolras was soaking wet in mere seconds. Feeling miserable, he fell down to his knees and heaved.

_Where am I? Where are my friends? What is happening?_

A sudden cry ripped it’s way out of Enjolras’ throat as a piercing pain tore through his abdomen. He curled into himself and put one arm over his head in a futile attempt to shut the rain out. He couldn’t go on anymore. The pain was too bad. The sound of the beating drum faded away. Darkness fell.

And then a voice. Demanding, but gentle.

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“It’s breaking! Enjolras’ fever! It’s breaking!”

Courfeyrac shouted the words as he burst through the door of Madame Hucheloups tiny bedroom.

Five exhausted and puffy pair of eyes stared at him as he came into the living room. There was no doubt that none of them had gotten any sleep. Courfeyrac walked straight to Jehan, who stood closest to him and embraced the poet with such fierce passion that the tinier boy nearly stumbled.

“His fever! Mes amis, his fever is breaking. The infection is losing it’s strength. He’s still fighting. Thank God! I knew he’d never give up. He’ll pull through. I know he will.”

_Is he awake?_

_Will he be okay?_

_Have you spoken to him?_

_Is he in pain?_

_Can we go see him?_

For a moment Courfeyrac was too overwhelmed with emotion to answer his friends’ burning questions. Tears streamed down his face as he hugged Jehan again and repeated his words. “It’s breaking. He’s still there, he’s still fighting.”

At the same time, the door to Madame Hucheloups bedroom was still shut and none of the Amis dared to go in there until they knew exactly what was going on. The last thing they heard was that Enjolras’ would probably not make it through the night. They’d even said goodbye to their friend and leader. And now, after a whole night and nearly a day of waiting, Courfeyrac came bursting in the room telling them that Enjolras’ fever had broken and that their friend may yet live to see another day.

It was Joly he stepped up and pulled Courfeyrac away from Jehan. He took his friend’s face in his hands and thumbed the tears away. “What are you saying, Courf? What’s happening in there?”

Courfeyrac let out something close to a sob and laugh. “His fever broke, Joly! That’s what I’m saying. He’s sweating all over the place and his temperature is going down. He’s going to be okay!”

Joly’s heart jumped. _His fever broke!_ That was good news indeed.

“Has he woken up?”

Courfeyrac shook his head. “Not in a while. He woke up somewhere in the night, still very out of it. He wanted me and ‘Ferre to climb into bed with him. He hasn’t opened his eyes since, but it’s clear that he’s fighting his way back. The infection isn’t winning, Joly!”

Joly’s heart ached at the sight of Courfeyrac’s face. And yet he couldn’t fully share in his friend’s happiness. The fever breaking was very, _very_ good news. But it didn’t have to mean that Enjolras was out of the woods. It didn’t mean the infection was gone. It could still win. It could still claim their friend. And Joly knew Combeferre knew this as well.

“What’s Combeferre doing?”

Courfeyrac looked at Joly for a moment and then slapped a hand against his own forehead. “Right,” he said, nodding to himself. “Right. I’m sorry, I let my emotions run away with me. ‘Ferre sent me in to come and get you. He’s trying to get Enjolras to wake up.” And with that, Courfeyrac took Joly by the hand and dragged him into the tiny bedroom.

Four pair of eyes now stared at a closed bedroom door, too shocked to decide if they should go after them or stay behind. In the end it was Grantaire who broke the silence.

“What the hell just happened?”

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_Thanks for reading! I hope to update soon again._

 


	13. Chapter 13

_Hi guys! I’ve got another update for you :) It’s unbeta’ed because I wanted to get this chapter up and done with. All mistakes are mine._

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Combeferre gently wiped the sweat on Enjolras’ forehead away. Meanwhile, he talked to him. He spoke soft and sweet words of encouragement in the hope that his friend would wake up. But Enjolras stayed deeply asleep.

Combeferre still couldn’t believe how different their wake turned out to be. Only hours before, he had been planning a funeral. His mind was already practicing the conversation he’d have with Enjolras’ parents. He had thought about what kind of coffin Enjolras would want and how they’d move forward as a group after Enjolras was gone.

And then suddenly, things took a turn for the better. Where Enjolras had been still and quiet for the first half of their wake, he’d started moving and mumbling in the second half. Neither Combeferre nor Courfeyrac understood what Enjolras was saying, but they guessed their friend was stuck in some kind of dream. A little later on, Enjolras started sweating more and more and to Combeferre’s great relief, his temperature seemed to lower. The medical student had kept a close eye on Enjolras’ temperature from then on and after a few hours he was certain to claim that his friend’s fever had broken.

A miracle.

So unbelievable that Combeferre needed a second opinion. That’s why he sent Courfeyrac out of the room to get Joly. And that’s were they were now.

“What’s the good news I hear?” Joly said in a hushed voice as he entered the tiny bedroom. “His fever broke?”

Combeferre looked up and smiled at his friend. He nodded. “Yes, I’m sure of it… His temperature has lowered and he’s sweating quite a lot. But I need you to check if I’m right. We’ve been so close to losing him, I’m afraid I’m imagining things. I need to hear you say that I’m right.” Tears suddenly sprang to Combeferre’s eyes and he ducked his head in an attempt to avoid being seen.

But Joly did see it. He took a moment to really look at Combeferre and Courfeyrac and his heart broke. They both looked so exhausted and to the point of collapsing. Dark circles surrounded their eyes and Joly could’ve sworn he saw tremors go through Combeferre’s body. He’d guess that his friend’s muscles were literally shaking from the exertion of keeping him upright.

“Sure, ‘Ferre. Don’t worry, that’s why I’m here, am I not?” Joly said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. He squeezed Courfeyrac’s arm and gently pushed his friend in the chair next to the bed. Then he moved to Combeferre’s side and bent down to take a closer look at the pale blonde in the bed.

He reached out to brush some wayward curls from away and then lay the back of his hand against Enjolras’ forehead. It was still too warm to the touch, which meant that the infection had not yet given in. But Joly couldn’t deny that Enjolras’ was definitely cooler than he was the last time he checked up on him. Apart from that, Enjolras was indeed sweating and that was a good sign. It meant that his body was fighting hard to get rid of the fever and the infection.

Joly couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his lips. He locked eyes with Combefere and then reached out to squeeze his friend’s shoulder. “You’re right, mon Ami,” he said softly. “He’s indeed much cooler than he was. I believe his fever is breaking still. And that is such, such good news.”

“He’ll be okay, right?” Courfeyrac piped up from his chair on the other side of the bed. Both his hands were locked around Enjolras’. “It means he’ll be okay? He’ll live?”

Joly sighed. He met Combeferre’s eyes for a second and found the same knowledge in there that he held in his heart.

This brief exchange did not go unnoticed by Courfeyrac and before Joly could respond, his smile faltered and he had trouble suppressing a sob. “What the hell was that?” he asked quietly, looking from Joly to Combeferre and back again. “Why did you look at him like that? Enjolras will be okay, right? If his fever is breaking, he’ll be okay! He’s fighting.”

Joly tried to offer Courfeyrac a somewhat reassuring smile. “Calm down, Courf. Like I said, it’s such good news that his fever is breaking. Indeed, it means he’s still fighting. But though I’d want nothing more than for us all to believe he’ll be okay, we must be realistic. His fever is down, yes, but his body is still too warm. The infection isn’t gone yet and if Enjolras’ health falters, it could still claim him. All I’m trying to say is that the fight isn’t over yet. He’s still incredibly weak and he’s lost a lot of blood. The road to recovery is long. And though he’s beaten one huge obstacle, he’ll have miles to go. I just…” Joly paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I just don’t want us to get our hopes up. Not while he’s still hanging on by a thread.”

Courfeyrac frowned. “Get our hopes up? I’ve never lost my hope anyway. He’ll be okay, just see. Right ‘Ferre?” The usually so jubilant young man looked at Combeferre for support.

Combeferre looked at Courfeyrac and then back at Enjolras. His friend looked so young. He brushed his hand across Enjolras’ forehead and swallowed. Joly was right. Though his fever had lowered significantly, it wasn’t gone and it could still spike at any moment. He wanted nothing more than to comfort Courfeyrac and tell him he was right, but he couldn’t. Not yet .

“Joly is right, Courf,” he started quietly. “This is good news, but his fight isn’t over yet. We’ll need to keep a close eye on him. If I could just get him to wake up.. If I could just talk to him so he could tell us how he feels and what he needs.” Combeferre squeezed Enjolras’ hand. “Why won’t you wake up, E? I need to see that you’re doing alright…”

“He’ll be alright.” Courfeyrac said again, but this time more to himself. “You can say whatever you want, but I know he’ll be alright. Enjolras doesn’t give up. I believe in you, E. Don’t you worry. You’ll be okay, I know you will.”

Joly’s heart ached at the sight of his two friends. They were broken, that much was clear. And he feared – not for the first time – what would become of their group of friends if Enjolras didn’t make it through. Would they still fight for their cause? Yes, of course. But would their spirit still be the same? Joly doubted it.

He cleared his throat to get rid of the lump in his throat and brushed a lone tear away. “We all believe in him, Courf,” he mumbled. “If anyone can fight his way back from this, it’s Enjolras. I just… I just want us to be prepared.”

He tried to offer both his friends a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Neither Combeferre or Courfeyrac bothered to try and smile back. Joly moved a bit closer and pulled the thin covers away from Enjolras’ body. He wanted to see the what the wound looked like and the bandages were in need of changing anyway.

“Let’s have a look at his wound, shall we, ‘Ferre?” Joly said softly, hoping to pull his friend out of his grieving mood and into the roll of doctor. It would be good for Combeferre to feel useful again, as if he was participating in Enjolras’ recovery. Joly knew how hard it was for the other medical student to wait and do nothing. “And Courf, if you could get some clean bandages from my bag please?”

Both friends looked at him, frozen in place as Joly’s words sank in. Then they sprang into action. Courfeyrac stood from his chair and looked around in his friend’s back to find the bandages. “Do you need water too Joly?”

“That would be good, thank you,” Joly replied as he carefully loosened the wrappings around Enjolras’ middle. Combeferre moved to the other side of the bed. He pressed a gentle kiss against Enjolras’ forehead. Almost as if he was apologizing in advance for any pain they might cause him. Then he wrapped one hand around Enjolras’ wrist and turned to Joly. He nodded. Let’s do this.

Joly carefully pulled the dressings away. He heard Combeferre’s sharp intake of breath and had to push his own initial shock at seeing the wound away. It looked horrible and Joly thanked the Lord that Enjolras’ wasn’t awake to experience what would undoubtedly be a lot of pain. Back at the Musain, he and Combeferre had seared the wound closed so they could stop the bleeding. The edges of skin around the wound were black and would probably soon let loose. Right now, it looked horrifying, but Joly knew that it’d get better with time. Carefully, he reached out on hand and brushed it past the sides of the wound. Though the skin was still very warm to the touch, it looked significantly less red and swollen than it had earlier.

“See this, ‘Ferre?” Joly asked, bringing Combeferre’s attention back to him. His friend had been anxiously watching Enjolras while he’d inspected the wound. “I know it’s hard to believe, because overall it still looks bad, but these edges actually look a lot better than they did two days ago. Here, feel it. It’s still warm, but I think it’s definitely less swollen, don’t you think?” He replaced his hand with Combeferre’s and watched how a million emotions crossed his friend’s face. Thankfully, relief was one of them.

“That’s a really good sign,” Joly continued when Combeferre didn’t respond. Especially in combination with his temperature that’s gone down. It truly means that his body is fighting the infection and right at this point, it seems to be winning. I still don’t want to get our hopes up, because though his body is still fighting, he is very weak and he’s lost so much blood. But we can definitely take this as it is. Good news.” He squeezed Combeferre’s shoulder.

Combeferre gave Joly a small smile in return, but at the same time his hand tightened around Enjolras’ wrist. He was still terrified to lose him. He still needed to feel that fluttering heartbeat against his fingers. If only for his own sake of mind. “I need him to be okay, Joly,” Combeferre admitted softly. “I need him to wake up. I can’t do this without him. I can’t do any of this. If I lose him… I…”He paused, blinking the tears away. “If I lose him, I’ll lose myself right along with him. If I lose him, I can’t be there for Courf…or for the cause. I can’t be there for any of you. I _need_ him.”

Joly was in awe at Combeferre’s strength. His best friend’s life was hanging on by a thread and still Combeferre did everything in his power to be the rock they all needed. To be the solid comfort that Courfeyrac needed now that his reason to smile was so very ill. Combeferre didn’t even really allow himself to cry, to fall apart. He was one bundle of tight muscle, adrenaline and stress. All packed up together to keep standing. To keep his head held high and the there for his two best friends in any way they needed him to. But Joly saw the cracks. He knew how frightened Combeferre was. And so this confession didn’t come as anything new.

“I think you underestimate yourself,” Joly said. “If what we fear does come to pass, we’ll work through it. Together. As a group. But for now, you mustn’t think about it. It does no good. Focus on what we _can_ do for Enjolras. On what you can do for yourself.”

“What do you mean, for myself? I don’t want to do anything for myself.” Combeferre sniffed, wiping at the tears that suddenly kept coming. “What do I matter when he’s lying there fighting for every breath he takes? What do I need to do for myself when there isn’t anything to be done? All that matters is Enjolras right now. Who cares about me?”

“I do,” a voice said quietly.

Both Combeferre and Joly turned around to see Courfeyrac stand behind them, bowl of water in his hands. Neither of them had heard him come in.

Courfeyrac stepped closer and handed the bowl to Joly. His eyes never left those of Combeferre. “I care about you, ‘Ferre. You matter to me, alright? I can’t do this either, but I sure as hell can’t lose you both. You can’t do that to me. Do have any idea how angry it makes me to hear you say something like that? _You don’t matter?!_ Seriously?” Courfeyrac raised his voice, fear and exhaustion mixing with anger and desperation. “We are all in this together. If we lose Enjolras, our whole world will fall apart. I _know_ that, alright? But what if you heard me say something like that, huh? Don’t I matter? What would you think Enjolras’d say? Do you think you don’t matter to him? Do you honestly think no one cares about you?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Combeferre started hesitatingly, voice cracking. He hadn’t meant for Courfeyrac to hear his words. “I just… I…” But that’s when it all fell apart. Combeferre’s defenses were down. Exhaustion had crudely wiped them away. And now there was nothing left to hold back the river of emotions that had been waiting days to burst through. All the anger, fear, regret and relief flowed freely. Combeferre’s shoulders began to shake and before he fully realized what was happening, he was sobbing miserably. Wretched sounds filled the room.

Joly didn’t say or do anything, but gave Courfeyrac a gentle push in Combeferre’s direction.

And that was basically all Courfeyrac needed to pull his best friend in a bone crushing embrace and break down himself. He held Combeferre close, pressed his friend’s head against his chest and buried his own face in the crook of Combeferre’s neck. Together they cried until there were no more tears left.

* * *

 

“Do you think he’ll wake up soon?”

Courfeyrac’s voice broke the silence in the room. After their breakdown, the two friends had gotten their act together for Enjolras’ sake. They didn’t want their friend to see them like that. Enjolras had a habit of feeling guilty whenever his friends worried about him. If he’d wake up and see both of his best friends cry like that, he’d definitely take the blame. And if there was one thing that Enjolras didn’t need on top of everything that had already happened, it was guilt.

Combeferre shrugged one shoulder. When Joly was done cleaning and wrapping the wound, he’d left the room to inform the Amis about Enjolras’ situation. For now, they decided that it was still best to have as little people as possible in the room. If Enjolras was indeed on the mend, he needed no risk of any other ailment whatsoever. After Joly had left, Courfeyrac convinced Combeferre to get some rest. Combeferre refused to go to sleep, but he’d agreed to climbing in bed with Enjolras. That’s where he was now, propped up against a few pillows while his blonde friend rested safely against his chest.

“I hope so,” Combeferre mumbled, wrinkling his nose when Enjolras’ hair tickled his face. “I thought he was close to waking a while ago… But now he seems deeply asleep again. Maybe it’s for the best right now, though. If he sleeps, he doesn’t feel pain and his body has the best chance of healing.”

Courfeyrac nodded. He had once again placed himself in the wooden chair next to the bed, but his head rested against Enjolras’ good leg. “It’d be good to see those blue eyes again though. God, I’d even kill to see him glare at me again. I don’t think there’s anyone in this entire world who can glare like E does. Remember he once silenced our teacher with just one look after he’d been chastised for chatting with the maid’s daughter?”

Combeferre chuckled. “I remember, yes. If looks could kill, there’d be no need for a revolution.”

Courfeyrac smiled as well. It was good to hear Combeferre chuckle. Between worrying about Enjolras and trying to keep it all together, there hadn’t been time for Combeferre to show how he really felt. When he’d finally let everything go a few hours ago, Courfeyrac could tell a weight had lifted from Combeferre’s shoulders.

“He’s not sweating that much anymore,” Courfeyrac said, as he watched how Combeferre wiped a cloth over Enjolras’ forehead. “His fever isn’t back up again, is it?”

Combeferre easily detected the fear in Courfeyrac’s voice. He smiled again and reached out to squeeze his friend’s hand. “No, it’s still much lower than it was. He was only sweating that much because his temperature lowered significantly in a short time. Don’t worry, Courf. I’m keeping a close eye on his vitals. For now, he’s still doing better than he before. Much better actually. I’ve got a feeling he’s even resting more comfortably don’t you think?”

Courfeyrac studied Enjolras’ face. It was smooth and peaceful. “I think so too… I hope he’s having a nice dream.”

* * *

 

A couple of hours later, Courfeyrac had fallen asleep.

Combeferre, too, was on the verge of passing out. He’d struggled against his exhaustion for more than two days now and he knew he was about to lose the fight. The warm weight of his friend against his chest didn’t do much to keep him awake either. And Enjolras felt like a comfortable blanket. It wouldn’t hurt to sleep a few minutes, would it? Even if it would, Combeferre knew he couldn’t win the fight. So he finally allowed his eyes to shut and he felt himself drift away in the world of dreams. 

* * *

 

Combeferre had no idea how much time passed when he woke up again. But the second there was a shift against his chest, his eyes flew open. It was like his unconscious mind remained alert, just in case something changed in Enjolras’ condition. He looked down to see if his friend was still peacefully sleeping, but what he saw nearly broke his heart.

Enjolras’ face was screwed up in pain and there were tears on his cheeks.

Very carefully – though his heart beat like crazy inside his chest – he sat up a little straighter so he had both arms free to help Enjolras but at the same be as close as possible. He wanted his friend to know right away that he wasn’t alone.

“Hey, E,” he whispered softly, voice gentle but with a slightly demanding undertone. He needed his friend to wake up now. “Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes for me?” One hand carded through the messy mop of curls as the other softly squeezed the nap of his neck. “You’ve been asleep for so long, it’s time to wake up now. Can you wake up for me, E? Please?”

And finally, after hours of hoping and praying, Enjolras’ eyes opened.

 

* * *

 

TBC.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it, please let me know? Also, I have a tumblr (sarahbob24) Come and say hi if you want to :)


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